


Picking Through the Lead: Part Two

by Sam_3024



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-04-19 08:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 97,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_3024/pseuds/Sam_3024
Summary: Parenthood. It's tough no matter which way you spin it, but also being a criminal can add a whole new set of problems to the mix. (This story can probably be read independently of the first part as long as you're familiar GTA V.)





	1. One Year Later

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the new part of this story! I have a lot of high hopes for it, and I want it to be the story that lives up to all of your expectations too. I just wanted to start out by leaving this note to tell all of you thank you for your wonderful comments at the end of the last part. It really is touching to know you guys appreciate something I spent a lot of hard work on for about a year. It really motivates me to keep writing and to strive to become a better writer. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

I flick my hands downward over the kitchen sink to remove the excess water from them. From the main living room a few yards to my left, the baby begins to cry. I dry my hands on a dish towel as swiftly as I can and quickly make my way to him. Picking him up, he already begins to calm down. I rock him a little in the center of the living room and he completely relaxes. 

I thank my lucky stars every day for Ryan. Since the minute I first saw him, he’s been nothing but a quiet, content being. I thought for sure as time went on that he’d fuss and cry more, but I was completely wrong. Motherhood hasn’t been easy, but I do believe he’s made it significantly easier on me and Trevor. 

The clock reads noon, which means it’s about time for his nap. I take him upstairs and gently place him in the wooden crib that Tracey and Jimmy once used. Ryan almost instantly goes to sleep and I smile down on him. Stealthily, I leave the room and make my way back downstairs.

Finally, some peace and quiet. I have the house to myself, or so I thought. The front door opens and I can tell by the way it’s shut that it’s my husband. His footsteps echo around the house, probably looking for me. I would call out to tell him I’m in the kitchen, but the baby is asleep. Soon enough, he appears in the kitchen doorway anyway. He has a smirk on his face as he slowly approaches me in the kitchen. 

“How’s business?” I ask him. 

“Booming as always,” he whispers as he plants a kiss on my lips. “Where’s Johnny?”

“I thought he was out, doing pick-ups for you,” I tell Trevor.

“He probably still is; I got to the base a little late today and you know he’s been getting up pretty early to start his day,” he reasons. Trevor’s hands find my hips. “What about the baby?”

“I just put him down for a nap, so if you go upstairs please be quiet.” I say sternly, but with an air of playfulness.

“Good,” he growls as he picks me up and sets me down on top of the dinner table, “but we won’t be making it upstairs.”

“What do you think you’re doing,Trevor?” I giggle excitedly.

“What does it look like I think I’m doing?” He grins as he unbuttons his jeans.

This is the way things have been for the past six or seven months. Somewhere along the road, I think Trevor had a breakthrough. The Los Santos branch of T.P.I. took off soaring, in more ways than one. The branch became so successful that Trevor was able to get a plane and start making air drops. This made things a lot easier in the sense that Johnny focuses on picking up packages and making deals, Franklin focuses on large scale deliveries and overseeing deals made, and Trevor just goes in when they have air-drops to make. That took a large amount of stress off of him and I think he’s accepted that fatherhood fulfills him more than he ever thought possible.

Trevor loves checking on Ryan a million times a day. He’s always eager to hold him and help out with caring for him. I have to constantly tell him to leave the baby alone when he’s sleeping. Trevor is extremely protective and cautious when it comes to our son. It brings out a whole new side of him that I don’t think he realized he had.

Everything is perfect and better than it ever was. Life in general is better. Who could complain? Our break from all the stress and strife life constantly handed us was long awaited and much needed, and Trevor and I finally found our place. All the hardships we endured our entire lives have finally paid off and honestly, it was all worth it.

“Uh, guys,” we hear from the other side of the wall, “I just wanted to get some lunch. Can you maybe not make a brother or sister for Ryan in the kitchen? I could hear you guys as soon as I opened the front door.”

“Can you give us a second?” Trevor grunts, completely unphased by the fact Johnny is literally on the other side of the wall in the hallway.

All three of us hear wailing from upstairs. “The baby’s crying. Thank god,” Johnny informs us happily, so that he can make his lunch.

I laugh and slowly sit up, putting a hand on Trevor’s chest. “You go to the bedroom and I’ll go check on Ryan.”

Trevor reluctantly agrees and tucks himself back in his jeans. He exits the kitchen and walks past Johnny. I hop down off the table, pull my dress back down, and quickly wipe the table for Johnny’s peace of mind that it’s clean. I walk into the hall, where Johnny is standing awkwardly and probably mortified. I give him an apologetic pat on the back as I pass him and go up the stairs. 

I peek into Ryan’s room. He’s flailing his arms and legs and crying tiredly. I pick him up and begin to rock him. He relaxes as I softly shush him back to a calm state. We must’ve made more noise than I thought or he must’ve had a nightmare. He’s placed gingerly back in his crib and I watch him until he falls back asleep.

 _Hallelujah._ I zealously make my way down the hall to the master bedroom. Trevor is waiting for me impatiently. He strips off his t-shirt, grabs me around the waist, and falls with me onto the bed. He moves so that he's above me now and he just stares at me. He smiles.

"What?" I ask curiously.

"Do you have a license to be that beautiful?" He jokes sweetly.

* * *

The oven beeps in the kitchen and I can hear Trevor turn the page of whatever magazine he's reading. Ryan giggles as I tickle him, which makes me smile. He reaches out for my hand. I hold it out for him and pull him up to his feet. He turns his body and head to look at Trevor, who hasn't noticed. Ryan let's go of my hand and wobbles, slightly off balance. Then, he goes teetering off towards Trevor.

"Oh my god, Trevor, look!" I yell excitedly.

He looks at me first and then at the baby walking with some difficulty to him. Trevor practically throws the magazine down and welcomes his son's arrival to the couch. He waits for Ryan to complete the walk from me to him before scooping him up in his arms. "Good job, cowboy!" He says enthusiastically. "You just took your first steps!"

I watch them lovingly and then get up to check on the cake in the oven. As I'm pulling it out, the doorbell rings. Quickly, the cake is put on the island in the kitchen and Trevor and I go out into the hall to answer the door. Trevor has his hands full with the baby, so I swing the door open. Amanda squeals a greeting with excitement. Michael is already rolling his eyes at her. All four members of the De Santa family step in the foyer and hugs are exchanged. 

"Look at how big he's getting! I only saw him about a month ago," Amanda notes.

"He's learning so quick too," I tell her. "He literally just took his first steps!"

"Aw, I missed that by a matter of minutes. Has he said his first words?" She asks.

"He babbles and understands some words, but not really. He's rather quiet, to be honest"

"God, I can't get over that thick, dark hair and those eyes," says Amanda as she looks at the baby in Trevor's arms. "I see more and more of you and Trevor in him every time I see him. I can't believe he's one _already_."

"Time flies, doesn't it?" I say. "It's hard to imagine a year ago today, I was bringing him into the world. It seems like so long ago!"

"I remember those days. One minute you're changing their diaper, the next they're asking to borrow $50 and the car for the day," Amanda jeers at her own children.

"Mom, do you really miss changing poop filled diapers?" Jimmy reality checks her.

"I don't miss the shit-encrusted diapers, but it's the sentiment of you two still being dependent babies I miss. Now, you two want nothing to do with me or your father," she says slightly saddened. "You have that to look forward to," she says to me.

"The baby birds have to stray from the nest some time, mom," Tracey adds.

"I know, I know." Amanda answers.

"Don't worry. If he's a difficult teenager, you'll enjoy him not wanting anything to do with you," Michael laughs.

I sigh, "The teenage years are what I'm most afraid of. He's such an angel now, I just feel like the tables are going to turn later on."

"The tables will definitely be doing something they weren't intended to do," Johnny teases Trevor and I as he walks into the hall. "Everything is in the kitchen," he informs me.

"Ok, thank you, Johnny," I blush at his joke. 

We all move down the hall and into the kitchen and dining area. Amanda sets the presents she brought on the dinner table, in her true fashion. It wouldn't be Amanda De Santa if she didn't arrive with a ton of presents tucked under her arms. Amanda and her kids take a seat at the table while Michael, Trevor, and Johnny park it on the couch in front of the tv not too far from the dining area. I grab an icing knife and the tub of frosting, and begin to frost the cake that had cooled since I took it from the oven. 

Trays of food lined the counters of the kitchen. Michael and Amanda suggested some of their favorite restaurants in Los Santos and we decided to order some for the party. I was insistent that I make the birthday cake though. I'm a damn good baker and I felt confident enough that my skills were better than most store-bought cakes. Plus, there's something special about making your own child's birthday cake, especially the first one. 

Trevor walks over, still holding Ryan. "What's mama doing?" He asks Ryan, who looks longingly down at what I'm doing. He reaches out his small hand and opens and closes it, signaling that he wants what I have. "Not yet, bud. I promise it'll be all yours soon though," Trevor tells him.

Ryan makes noises of discontentment. I dip a finger into the frosting and hold it up to him. He leans forward and everyone watches as he tastes the frosting. Who knew adults were just as easily fascinated. Ryan smiles at me and then looks at Trevor. He reaches his hand upward and feels the stubble on his father's face, and babbles, "Da-da".

"Oh my god," Amanda sounds like she's about to cry. "That is too damn cute."

"I think my heart is melting," Tracey says, just as touched as her mother.

I laugh, "Isn't he precious? I didn't know I could love anything this much. I swear, if he grows up to be a serial killer I'd still love him to death."

"That's morbid," Jimmy laughs. 

"It's true though. That's how being a parent feels," Amanda tells him. "How are you finding it being a dad, Trevor?"

"It's the hardest job I've ever had, which should say a lot. It's rewarding though. I love just looking at him and thinking 'I made that'. That's a weird concept to me." He answers genuinely.

"You've done so good with him," I assure him. "You've been such a big help to me." The doorbell rings again. "Here, I'll take Ryan and you can go hang out with the guys." 

"You're sure?" Trevor double checks. He's more-so asking me because he wants to keep holding his son.

"Yeah, take a break from 'dad duty' and go talk with the boys," I insist. Trevor hands Ryan over who instantly clings to me. He starts to play with my hair as I walk down the hall and open the door.

"There's the birthday boy! And his beautiful mother! Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi, dad. You'll never believe this, but the birthday boy here just took his first steps today," I inform him.

He looks impressed. "It's all downhill from there," he jokes. "The house is soon going to be in shambles."

"That's what we're afraid of. Michael and Amanda are here with their kids. I was just telling her what a quick learner he is. He's going to outsmart Trevor and I very quickly and be a real troublemaker."

"You might have your work cut out for you with my family's genetics," he sighs. Ryan reaches out for his grandfather, who is eager to hold him.

"Trevor's doesn't help either, but you know what a sweet boy Ryan is. There's really no telling at this point. I'm just thankful he sleeps through the night. I got really lucky there. I remember watching Amanda's kids when they were little and both of them never slept through the night until they were older."

"Yes, even you had trouble when you were a newborn. Maybe he takes after you more than you think because you were a pretty quiet baby too, for the most part." My father tells me as we walk into the kitchen. He hands me the present he brought and I set it on the table with all the things Amanda brought. "Hello, Amanda," my father greets, "and Jimmy and Tracey."

"Hi! It's so good to see you again," Amanda gets up to hug him. "I heard you moved to the city."

"I did! It makes more sense because (your name) is really my only family and I can help out with this little guy," he slightly raises Ryan up.

"That'll be nice. I know I wished I had had my parents living closer to help with these two, but (your name) and Trevor did watch them a lot. That was a _huge_ help for me. You know, I think when I saw how good they were with Jimmy and Tracey and how much the kids loved them that's when I knew they would be great parents. I think it's safe to say I was right," she smirks and then gives me a quick look.

"Completely safe to say," my dad agrees. "I don't know about you, Amanda, but I certainly commend them for having a family at a better time than my wife and I did. We had just gotten married and barely had a penny to our names. You could imagine my embarrassment because my wife was from a well-to-do family, but I insisted we keep our finances quiet around them because I was trying to provide for my family by myself, as men do. We really couldn't afford to start a family, but we had a wonderful little surprise." He turns and smiles at me.

"I can relate completely," Amanda begins. "I'll admit that Michael and I were very young and we weren't married when I got pregnant with Tracey. I really didn't have any money because every cent went to paying rent and utilities at my apartment. And Michael-," she sort of trails of wondering how to proceed from there.

"He knows, Amanda. It's ok." I tell her.

"Oh," she says with a shocked look on her face. "In that case, they were _just_ starting to get somewhat successful with their little operation, so Michael didn't really have too much either."

"I'm curious, Amanda, how did you and Michael meet? You two are such a good fit." My dad says.

"Well, thank you," Amanda looks completely surprised. "I don't really hear that a lot. We've gone to counseling and sorted out most of our issues. We work better now than we used to; (Your name) can tell you that. Anyway, I worked at a club and all of them came in one night. Michael just came up to me, told me how beautiful he thought I was, and I gave him my number. The rest is history." Amanda says, happily reminiscing. "How about you? How did you meet your wife?"

"I never do the story any justice. She's no longer with us to tell the story though, so I guess I'll have to try. We actually went to high school together. I was definitely a nerd-type and she ran with the popular crowd. I always had a big crush on her, but I remember telling myself it was never going to happen. Anyway, after high school we ended up going to the same college. It was in a smaller town, but bigger than North Yankton. After class, a lot of the students would hang out at this one diner that was really close to the school and the food there was _amazing_. I didn't know this at the time, but a majority of her friends had moved to bigger cities to get out of our town. She didn't fit in as much as she did in high school and apparently a lot of the girls would pick on her and even guys started to as well. One day, we both happened to be at the diner and I overheard a guy I had biology class with start to say really nasty things to her. I turned around and told him to "Fuck off". Pardon my French," my dad says as he covers Ryan's ears. "I was with a group of my friends and they were completely shocked because I don't have a very confrontational personality, but this was the girl of my dreams! The guy was a real wimp because he clearly didn't think anyone would say anything. He sort of just lumbered off, feeling defeated and that was that."

Amanda smiles at my dad, with sentimentality in her eyes. "That sounds sort of similar to (your name)'s and Trevor's story."

"It does a little bit, doesn't it?" They both look at me, finishing up decorating my son's first birthday cake. "Why don't you tell it, sweetie?"

"You were _there_ , dad," I giggle. "Well, I had my friends drop me off after hanging out around town a few blocks from my house. It was pretty late at night and I think I was already supposed to be home an hour or two before. I loved walking down Main Street alone at night, and I had done it _so_ many times. This one particular time, this creepy guy comes out of nowhere and pins me to a wall. He starts to harass me and Trevor also comes out of nowhere and tells him to leave me alone. The guy doesn't listen and Trevor knocked him out. Very romantic," I laugh. "He walked me home, met mom and dad, and here we are today."

"Now that's a couple. Am I right?" Dad says to Amanda, referring to me and Trevor.

"Don't even get me started. They're perfect. I waited so long for them to get married and have kids."

"I did too, Amanda. I had no idea that I'd get to be in their life for both, but I'm so glad I am. The years she was gone, her mother and I both hoped that they were still together and off doing much better than we did at their age."

"They're like total relationship goals!" Tracey adds, looking up from her phone briefly.

"I'm very uncomfortable with all the praise coming my way right now," I joke as I interject into the conversation.

"Why? It's so rare to see two people that connect so deeply and love unconditionally, literally. We all hope we love our spouses and family unconditionally, but sometimes that's easier said than done. That's not unconditional, but I don't feel that you and Trevor have ever done that." Amanda says. Her two kids give her a look and she waves them off. "I'm sure you two have thought bad things about your father and me." 

"I don't know. I just don't think it's fair to compare your relationship to ours. We have completely different relationships with completely different men. We love in different ways." I explain.

"Yeah," she sighs, "I guess you're right. You can't deny it though that there is just _something_ special about you two. You both are just on such a different level than most couples."

"I can't deny that," my eyebrows raise. I push a big candle in the shape of a one in the center of the cake. 

"It looks great, honey," my dad compliments me on the homemade cake. "Don't you think so, Ryan?"

Trevor wanders back into the kitchen. "Dad, I didn't know you were here. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Trevor. One whole year of being a dad, how do you feel?"

I take Ryan from my dad to let everyone socialize. I can tell Trevor is a little unsettled by everyone placing so much power on becoming a father. Part of how he's been able to become more comfortable with the idea of being a father is by not taking it so seriously. It's easier for him to care for Ryan when he tells himself that it's ok to make mistakes and to not be so wound up about it. He's done very well with keeping a level head with everyone when they ask him things like that though. I'm extremely proud of him and how he handles things now.

Trevor wraps an arm around my shoulders, reinforcing my hypothesis. He's trying to stay grounded because he's getting overwhelmed, and so am I. My arm starts to tire and I switch Ryan to my other side. He leans back pretty far and I clutch him tighter to make up for the awkward weight shift he's creating. He looks up at Trevor who is in the midst of a conversation with my father. I watch Ryan as he watches his own father. 

It's interesting to me how he interacts with Trevor. Ryan and I have a special bond of our own, and that's common for a mother and child; he grew inside me, but there's something different about the way he sees Trevor. There's almost a level of reverence, which is pretty remarkable considering that he's only a year old. I find myself thinking about his personality in the future a lot, and I wonder how this trait will manifest later on. _What is it?_

The conversation lulls. "Is everyone ready to light the candle?" I pose the question to everyone. A jumbled wave of "Yeah"s are given in reply. Trevor calls for Johnny and Michael to come over and he grabs a spare matchbook that's always there just in case in the house. 

We all begin to sing happy birthday and Trevor strikes the match across the igniter pad. I watch as the flame instantly appears and he holds it to the wick of the candle. Dad hits the lights and the colorful birthday cake stands out even more. When we finish up the song, I bring Ryan closer to the cake. Trevor puts a hand on my back, showing his anxiety about that decision. 

I point to the candle. "Can you blow it out? Go like this," I demonstrate to Ryan how to blow out the candle. He looks at me for a few seconds and then tries it himself. "Good job! Now try it on the candle." He does as I say and the flame moves away slightly. He grows frustrated and while he tries it again, I secretly blow on it too to help him out. Everyone except Ryan is aware of this and they laugh a little as they cheer for him. 

Trevor removes the candle and grabs plates, forks, and a knife to cut the cake with. I put Ryan in his highchair and Trevor hands him a small, first piece of the cake. As he cuts a slice for the rest of us, we watch Ryan grab at the cake with his bare hands and slowly shovel it in his mouth. Various people make pleased sounds as they take the initial bite of cake. 

"Jesus Christ, this is _amazing_!" Amanda says with a mouthful of cake.

"Yeah, it _really_ is," Michael agrees. 

"Mmhmm," Johnny adds.

Trevor laughs, "I'm lucky. I get to eat her cooking and baking every day."

"You have your mother's culinary talent," says dad. 

"Well, thank you, guys. I had an idea about how to change up the recipe, which actually was mom's, and decided to try it out." I tell everyone.

"You _have_ to share the recipe," Amanda urges.

"Of course! I don't understand the people that keep recipes secret."

* * *

I climb into bed next to Trevor and rest my head on his chest. The quietness of this moment is something I've been looking forward to all day. My introverted tendencies have come out more and more as our lives have gotten busier. I still enjoy visiting with family and friends and taking care of the baby, but I long for alone time with Trevor even more than I used to at the end of the day. He plays with my hair while I lay on him. It's like we're communicating without saying a word and he knows exactly how I'm feeling.

"I love you," he says tenderly.

I roll over on my back so I can look at him. "I love you too."

"You're really an amazing person," he says slowly and quietly.

I give him an odd look. "Where did that come from?"

"Earlier today, when we were all in the kitchen singing 'Happy Birthday' to the one-year-old," he laughs a little, "I was thinking about how I never could have had that moment without you. I have no idea where I'd be without you. I'd probably be dead or in Sandy Shores for the rest of my life with no one. Honestly, what's the difference in either if those scenarios? I wouldn't have any friends or family to surround me, that's for sure."

"I don't think that's necessarily true. Assuming that your life went similarly without me, you'd probably try to find Michael. He meant too much to both of us to let that slip away in any version of our lives. You've done a lot for yourself, Trevor. Give yourself some credit."

"I know I've done a lot for myself, but the point is I wouldn't have a _life_ without you. I never would have had the happiness I have now. I never would have been a husband or a father. No one would put up with my bullshit like you and it takes a very strong person to love someone like me. I just wanted to let you know that I am _so_ grateful for _you_." 

I blush and smile. "Not as grateful as I am for you."

"Ok, do you really want to go down that path because we could be going back-and-forth all night with that," he jokes.

The room goes silent again. "You know you're a great father, right?"

He scoffs, "All I do is bathe and feed the kid occasionally."

I laugh at how wrong he is. "That's kind of a big deal to even do that, Trev. You don't just 'bathe and feed' him occasionally; you play with him and talk to him. You're present with him. He has your undivided attention when he is under your supervision. I'm not going to lie; I thought I would have to assume a majority of the responsibilities that come along with being a parent, but you have split them with me pretty equally. You've never let me feel overwhelmed when it comes to parenting and you've never let me feel unappreciated for what I do."

"Well, then that makes two of us, crazy cakes."


	2. Space

“Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like if he was still around?” I laugh at the thought.

“Yes and no,” Michael answers. “I’m curious, but he was a real pain in the ass. I do feel bad for what happened to the guy. You both already know that.”

“One thing’s for sure, he knew how to let loose. You could’ve learned a thing or two from him,” Trevor says, sipping a beer like he just told Michael off.

“Eh, I don’t know about that, T.” 

Ryan starts to cry in his highchair off to the side. I pick him up, knowing it’s well past his naptime. We excuse ourselves from the kitchen and I take him upstairs. He seems particularly bothered today. So, I sit in the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery with him in my arms. He quiets down, but he still can’t get completely comfortable.

“I know, I know,” I whisper to him as I clutch him to my shoulder and rub his back, “just know that I’m always here. That’s going to be an important thing to remember in life.”

He squirms slightly and yawns. We’re finally getting somewhere. His dark brown, almost black, eyes look up into mine. He’s just a baby, but it feels like he can look right through me. He reminds me so much of Trevor in that aspect. Careful not to disturb him, I take him over to the crib.

As I walk down the stairs, I can hear the two boys talking. The house seems eerily calm, but outside rain is pouring down noisily. When I cross back into the kitchen, Michael’s phone begins to ring. He hits the button to quiet it without looking at the screen. Only a few seconds later and his phone rings again. 

This time, he looks down at it and his eyebrows knit in confusion. Trevor and I can tell he’s debating on whether or not he should answer it. He stares down at the phone in heavy contemplation.

“Who is it?” Trevor asks.

“Dave Norton,” he replies ominously. I think all three of us got chills at the utterance of his name.

Michael told us everything about Dave. He was the one that Michael planned the heist-gone-awry with and the person that killed Brad. This is the man that was supposed to kill Trevor. Michael mentioned that he was blackmailed into doing a few hits here and there for Dave to even the score with the I.A.A. 

Another thing Michael mentioned, he and Dave Norton cut all ties with one another after completing one final hit for Norton. This call Michael is debating on taking is not for a trivial reason. The three of us exchange glances.

“Answer it,” I tell him. I sit back down next to Trevor and we listen in on the conversation.

Slowly, Michael touches the phone’s screen to answer it and raises it to his ear. “Hello?...I’ve been doing alright. How about you, Davey?...Just visiting some friends...Yes, (Your name) and Trevor,” Michael sighs, not wanting to divulge that information. “Look, what does it matter? I did what you asked and you said we could finally go our own ways...Oh no. Get someone else to do it.” He ends the call prematurely.

“That didn’t sound good,” Trevor notes.

“It’s fine. He’ll figure it out on his own.” Just then his phone starts to ring again. 

I see the screen; it’s Dave. “He’s not going to stop,” I inform him.

Michael reluctantly answers the phone. “Davey, I’m retired! Let me enjoy it...I can’t. I still have a family, you know. Amanda doesn’t need one more reason to leave...You promised me this was over...Yeah. Fuck you, Dave.” He ends the call again and tosses his phone on the table.

“What did he want?” I ask for both my own and Trevor’s curiosity.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it and hopefully _that_ will be the end of it.” Michael tries to assure me and Trevor.

“Forgive me if I’m not quick to trust the situation, but this is _Dave Norton_ we’re talking about.” I say sternly.

Michael exhales and turns the beer bottle in circles on the table uncomfortably between his thumb and other fingers. “He wants me to shoot down a plane. A man that’s highly wanted by the F.I.B is supposed to be on it.”

“Why _you_?” I question.

“He said, ‘You’re the best sharpshooter San Andreas has, so suck it up because you’re the only man for the job’.”

“Well,” I sigh, “you can’t really deny that. It sounds simple enough for a man of your skills. Just get it over with and you’ll never have to think about it again.”

“I don’t have any choice,” Michael says blankly.

* * *

_Shing. Shing._ The metal of the knife slides across the metal of the sharpener. The steady, rhythmic motions and sounds it makes is almost soothing to me. The butcher’s knife comes down and splits the slab of pork in half. I push one half of it away and wrap up the other half, placing it back in the freezer. 

The half of pork I left out is trimmed of fat as best as I can manage. The trimmings from the pork and the peels of already cut and prepared vegetables is thrown into the trash. As I put the pork in the heated pan, it begins to emit a satisfying sizzle and the pleasing smell of cooked meat. 

I trust that it’ll take a few minutes to cook, so I tie off the trash bag and lift it out of the can. It gets carried out of the backdoor and around the side of the house. I notice a pungent smell as I lift up the lid of the larger trash can. Oddly enough, I realize it isn’t coming from the trash can. A chill runs down my spine.

I slowly turn and survey my surroundings. I become more aware of the sound of flies’ wings, frantically moving about. Slowly, I look down and I jump suddenly at the sight before me. The realization of what the smell is causes me to grimace and run back inside.

I turn the stove off and move the pan to an unheated coil. “Trevor!” I yell from the kitchen doorway. I wash my hands quickly while I wait for him. Soon enough, I hear his boots shuffling quickly down the stairs and then walks towards the kitchen in a calm manner.

“Did you call me?” He checks.

“Yeah, come outside with me.” I lead him outside, taking the same route the trash did. “Look,” I stop next to the garbage cans on the side of our house and point beside one next to the concrete wall division.

“Ugh,” Trevor grimaces too. He steps closer to get a better look and swats flies away with his hand. 

A dead cat lays next to the trash cans. Luckily, we have never owned a cat, but I’ve also never seen many around the neighborhood. It met a bitter end here by the tell-tale ring of blood around it that’s soaked into the concrete. Its neck appears as if it’s hanging on by a few tendons. 

“I have a bad feeling about it,” I say, placing my hand on my chest. “Somebody could have killed it and dropped it here.”

Trevor laughs, “Don’t jump to the worst case scenario. A coyote probably got to it and just dropped it here. You go inside and I’ll move it.”

But I don’t move. My whole body feels stiff. “Trev, when have you ever seen a cat in this part of town just wandering around?”

“Honey,” he stresses, “I’m sure it’s fine. Don’t you remember how the coyotes went after the rabbits in Sandy Shores? That’s probably all it is.”

I lean in a little and wave the flies away aggressively. “Its head is detached from its body, Trevor. When have you seen a coyote do that?”

“Look, what’s more likely: a psycho cat decapitator leaving it here or a coyote dropping it here?” He asks me rhetorically.

“All I’m saying is why would a coyote stop at ripping its head off? Wouldn’t it at least eat a little? Look closer,” I kneel next to it and point at the separation of head and body, “that’s a clean cut. It doesn’t look like rigid teeth that ripped it apart.”

“What do you want me to do, (your name)?” He asks with slight annoyance in his voice.

“Obviously get rid of it, but I want you to listen to me. My intuition is rarely off,” I state.

“I know. I hear you. I’ll start making sure the gate is locked at night. All we can do is keep an eye on things and wait.” He tries his best to console me.

“Ok,” I sigh uncomfortably. “I’m going to go finish dinner.”

I leave Trevor outside to move the cat and resume cooking the chicken. My phone begins to ring. The tone forcefully brings me back to reality and out of my thoughts. Amanda’s calling and I’m almost grateful for her timing.

“Hey, what are you up to?” She doesn’t give me time to greet her.

“I’m in the middle of cooking dinner. Something really creepy just happened.” I tell her.

“Oh yeah? What was it?”

“I went to take the trash out and there was a dead cat out by the trash cans,” I say, audibly distressed.

“That’s disgusting, but what’s so creepy about it?” She wonders aloud.

“It’s head looks like it was cleanly cut from its body. Trevor doesn’t seem bothered by it, but the whole picture added together just seems odd to me. I mean, placing it outside near the trash cans is a place it will definitely be seen.”

“I don’t know. Maybe an animal got to it, walked through your yard, smelled something better in the trash, and just dropped it.” Amanda suggests. “I’d be worried if it was left on your front porch.”

“The trash cans weren’t tampered with though. They were upright, closed, and none of the other trash inside them were disturbed. Maybe it is nothing, but it just struck me as odd.” I try my best to shrug it off. 

By the time Johnny, Trevor, and I are ready to sit down for dinner, Ryan has already had his dinner and is down for the night. I quickly plate all the food and set them in down at the three set places at the table. The boys walk in together, making perfect timing. I can tell their conversation is about the business.

“Looks great, babe,” Trevor says.

“Smells great too,” Johnny adds.

Humbly, I say, “Thank you both.”

We all dig in and everyone is silent. Both Trevor and Johnny shovel the rest of their dinner in their mouths and make pleased noises. I cover my mouth as I laugh at them. It always makes me feel good when everyone goes quiet at dinnertime. That’s an obvious sign to me everyone is enjoying it.

I’ve been making home-cooked meals more frequently. There’s a sense of peace I’ve been finding more and more while making dinner. It provides a break from thinking about everything but the food I’m preparing. I’m also enjoying the sense of normalcy it gives me. By Trevor and Johnny’s reactions, I think they’re enjoying my newfound passion too.

“Hey, have you noticed anything strange around the house, Johnny?” I ask randomly.

He thinks for a moment. “Can you be a little more specific?”

“Have you seen or heard any animals around the house?” 

Johnny shifts his gaze towards the ceiling, deep in thought. “Not that I can think of. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it,” I assure him. He seems quick to shrug off my question.

We all finish up our dinner in silence. Johnny finishes first and excuses himself from the table, leaving his dirty dish in the sink. Trevor and I are left alone at the table as Johnny retires upstairs for the night. He places his fork down on the empty plate in front of him as he takes the last bite. He sits back in his chair and looks at me from across the table.

“Ready to turn in for the night?” 

“Yeah, my feet are killing me,” I groan.

“Well, crawl in bed and I’ll rub them.” He replies sincerely.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Really,” he emphasizes.

I give him an I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it look as I grab the plate in front of him. He stares at me, watching me closely and carefully. I take our empty plates over to the dishwasher, and fish a dishwasher tablet out from under the sink. The screech of the chair as Trevor pushes back from the table fills the otherwise silent kitchen.

As I quickly rinse my hands of the oily residue from the dirty dishes, I feel his hands slide across my waist. He presses the front of his body against the back of mine as he embraces me. I look at him in the reflection in the window above the kitchen sink. Reaching to the side of the sink, I grab the dish towel and quickly dry off my hands. 

I twist around to face him and he now has his interlocked hands resting on my lower back. My arms rest on either of his shoulders, like we’re about to slow-dance. Instead, he leans in and kisses me. He lingers a little longer than just a casual kiss.

“Come on,” I say just above a whisper to him, “I want to get off my feet.”

I slide a hand down his shoulder and take him by the hand, dragging him up the stairs. As we pass Johnny’s room, we can hear music coming from his room. I’m about to bang on the door a couple time, which I’ve had to do in the past so he doesn’t wake Ryan up. However, Trevor grabs my wrist. 

“It’s fine. We can’t hear it in our room, so Ryan can’t hear it in his. You’ll be thanking him for blaring music,” he smirks slightly at me.

“Alright, I see where your brain is Mr. Philips.” I tease him.

Trevor and I file into our bedroom and he shuts the door. I’m too tired to even change into pajamas, so I just peel off my jeans and toss them aside. Trevor sits on the edge of the bed while I collapse on top of it. The familiar shakes of the bed lets me know he’s yanking his boots off. I hear them thud on the floor as he tosses them aside as well. He changes out of his jeans and into his gray sweatpants.

Next thing I know, I feel him scoop an arm underneath me and pull me parallel to the bed. He reclaims his seat at the edge of the bed and gently picks up one of my feet. I’ve only ever had a few foot rubs from Trevor, but he’s surprisingly good at them.

“I’m going to assume you want something in return,” I say jokingly.

“You know what they say about assuming,” he says cleverly. “I promise I just want to do something nice for you. You don’t have to return any favors.”

I sink into the pillows behind me, feeling exactly like what they say about assuming. “Hey, Trev,” I start softly, “are you ok? You just seem kind of, I don’t know, _serious_.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “I’m fine. I’m just tired today. I do wish we could have _actual_ time alone together. Between Johnny and the baby, we never have time completely to ourselves anymore. Maybe we should go away for the weekend.”

I immediately perk up at the sound of that. “Well I’m definitely not going to argue that,” I reply happily.

“I didn’t think you would,” he says matter-of-factly. “Maybe we can stay somewhere in Chumash.”

I smile, “We haven’t been there since you proposed. God, that seems like forever ago. We were such different people.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he says. “We _are_ different people with different needs now. We’re probably going to need to take weekend trips at least every month. I think that’s important in keeping our sanity.”

“You’re right, but what are we going to do when Ryan gets older?” 

“Nothing’s going to change with him,” he assures me. “He’s already taken a liking to Amanda and Michael. They _love_ the kid, so it’s a win-win. You know Amanda will never say no to watching him.”

“I know that, but I don’t want him to feel like we’re dumping him on Michael and Amanda when we’re feeling overwhelmed by parenthood. I don’t want him to feel like a burden when he grows up.”

“I don’t think he will, cupcake,” he says slightly annoyed. “Think of it this way: Ryan is going to need a break from us too. It’s a vacation for everyone.”

“That’s a good point,” I sigh. “Ok.”

“Ok!” Trevor repeats excitedly. He must’ve been contemplating that for a while. 

“When did you want to go?” 

“This weekend?” He suggests.

“It’s Thursday night, Trevor,” I try to reason with him.

“I can pull a few strings,” he says self-assured. “We can get on the road tomorrow evening. How does that sound?”

“I’m going to have to call Amanda in the morning. That’s really short notice, T.”

“That’s what friends are for,” he says calmly as he lays beside me.

“We’ve never left him for a weekend for the entire year he’s been alive.”

“Amanda and Michael have popped out two of ‘em. He’ll be fine.”

“It’s not Amanda or Michael that I’m worried about. What if something happens and we’re not there?” I rhetorically say to Trevor.

“He’s the happiest, healthiest kid I’ve ever seen. He’ll be _fine_ , crazy cakes.” He tries to console me.

“That’s the ‘dad’ in you,” I say with an attitude.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Dads are the ones that throw the kid up in the air like three feet because they’re totally unaware of the danger, and us moms are off to the side having a panic attack.”

Trevor looks at me. “Everything has been going smoothly for a year. This is proof that you need some time to wind down and not worry so much. Come here,” he motions me over.

“I guess you’re right. I just need to get out of this house for a weekend and relax.” I say as I rest my head on his chest. “It’ll be good for me. It’ll be good for _us_.”

* * *

"Hey, Amanda, I have to ask a big favor of you." Even though she isn't physically in front of me, I still grit my teeth for asking something so last minute.

"Ok, shoot," she says.

"Trevor decided to spring this on me last night, but he wants to go away this weekend and I was wondering if you could watch Ryan?" 

"Of course! When are you bringing the little munchkin over? Ugh, I can't wait!" She replies eagerly.

"Probably in the next few hours. I have to gather up his things and then I have to pack for myself. Trevor gets home in an hour or two and he has to pack too, so probably not for another three hours at least." I inform her.

"Ok, well, just let me know. Where are you two lovebirds going? You haven't taken a trip for yourselves in a _long_ time."

"He suggested Chumash," I can't help but smile.

"Aw! That's where he asked you to marry him!" Amanda gushes. "I wish Michael was romantic."

I laugh. "See, it sounds nice, but all romance is going to die once we get there. It's just going to be ball-scratching in front of the tv and couch-fucking." 

Amanda sighs, "That's more romance than I've gotten the last, wait, how many years have Michael and I been married? You're starting to sound like a married woman."

"I'm not being fair to him," I admit. "He is romantic. I'm just anxious about leaving Ryan for the first time since he was born."

"Oh sweetie, I'll take good care of him." She attempts to comfort me.

"I know you will, and Michael will too. I was telling Trevor last night that I'm just scared he's going to get sick or you'll have to take him to the hospital."

"That's just the classic anxiety of being a mother. Learn to just push through it while you can because it's never going to go away and you don't want to end up giving him separation anxiety in the future. This is a good thing, for everyone involved." 

"That's what Trev said. I know you all are right. I just," I pause for a second, "this whole thing is a new experience unlike any other and I'm learning to deal with new aspects of it almost on a daily basis. It's both a curse and a blessing."

"I know _exactly_ how you feel. It'll ease some as he gets older, but you'll never be rid of the 'mama bear' instincts. Like I said, this is good practice for the future. Plus, I can tell you need a break. You've held everything together for a year straight, which honestly sounds like hell to me. You need a break, girlfriend!" 

"Well, we're working on it!" I giggle. "Oh, I think I just heard Trevor pull into the driveway. I'll give you a call when we're on our way to drop Ryan off." 

"Ok, I'll be here waiting for the precious little angel!" 

The call ends right as Trevor walks in the door. I get up off the floor and pick up Ryan, placing him on my hip. Trevor enter the living room, greets me with a kiss on the lips and Ryan with a kiss on the top of his head. He playfully and lovingly tussles what hair Ryan does have. 

"My two favorite people," Trevor smiles. "Are you ready to go?"

"Not quite. I still need to pack up my bathroom stuff. You still need to pack, so I figured I could finish packing that and Ryan's things while you do that." I explain.

"I'm all ready to go," he tells me, "I got up early this morning so I could finish the air drops and come home early. I packed before I left this morning."

"Oh, ok. Well, can you take him and I'll go finish packing?"

Trevor takes the little boy from my arms as a reply. He immediately starts baby-talking to him and whipping him around like he's an airplane. I watch them and smile before sneaking off up the stairs. I can hear Ryan's laughter from the living room as I ascend the staircase.

I grab my small train case and basically just swipe everything off the counter into the bag. I don't have time to slowly look over the contents of each drawer and carefully pick out what cosmetics I want to use. When Ryan wants his breakfast, he wants his goddamn breakfast. _And quick._ Everything I was used to doing before he was born, I had to relearn how to do in a fourth of the time if I had time to do it at all.

I close up the case, set it by the stairs, and head down the hall to my son's room. In the closet is a small overnight bag that we take whenever we go anywhere with Ryan. I place a few changes of clothes, diapers, wipes, etc. inside the bag and take the remain gin bags downstairs. I take them outside and sling them into the back of the truck. Trevor stands in the doorway with Ryan.

"Ready to go now?" He asks.

"Yep. Did you tell Johnny that we're leaving for the weekend?" 

"Yeah, I told him before I left to come home." He informs me.

I take Ryan from him and get in the truck. Trevor locks up the house and climbs into the driver's seat. Ryan already looks around, very confused. This isn't part of the day-to-day routine, he probably thinks. I pray that he'll sleep through the night tonight for Amanda's, Michael's, Jimmy's, and Tracey's sake. I take my phone from my pocket and call Amanda.


	3. Chumash

Chumash is engulfed in a beautiful sunset by the time we arrive. It reminds me almost exactly of the last time we were here. I don’t regret anything from the past, but I’m grateful we’re here on much better terms. The last time we stayed in Chumash I thought one of my best friends was murdered by Trevor, and I watched him destroy everything left of Johnny’s life in Sandy Shores.

Life is very different from what it used to be then. I don’t even feel like it all happened sometimes because of how busy and complicated everything has become. I haven’t been given a moment to breathe and let everything soak in for a long time. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Trevor insisted on this trip to prevent me from having a meltdown.

While it’s true that our lives have finally fallen into place and we now have everything we worked so hard for, it leaves a lot of time to finally process everything. Processing experiences and events in life is crucial to stability, but when it happens all at once it’s often hard to see how overwhelming it is. I finally have the time to stop and analyze the things that have happened to me, and it’s a lot to take in.

So here I stand in the driveway of a luxury beach house in northern Chumash, neck deep in rationalization. Trevor startles me slightly as he takes my luggage from my hand. I am so deep in thought that it’s like I can’t even see what’s in front of me. He notices and guides me into the house.

Trevor drops the suitcases next to the stairs and I make myself comfortable on the sofa in the living room. A few seconds later, he plops down beside me. 

“You know, we don’t have to go out for dinner if you don’t want to,” he tells me.

“Actually, I don’t think I want dinner at all. I’m not all that hungry, but you should eat something if you are.” 

Silence falls over the room and it’s deafening. I’m so used to Ryan crying to be fed or laughing with contentment, and if not that, Johnny or Trevor marching around the house, closing doors just shy of being slammed, or having lour conversation with each other. Silence, other than the waves crashing against the shoreline outside, has become foreign to me.

Not to mention, being completely alone with Trevor is a feat of its own. During the entire first year of Ryan’s life, the only time Trevor and I have been alone is at night when we’re going to bed. Even then, both Johnny and Ryan are just down the hall. This is honestly a dream-come-true for me, and I feel confident that Trevor feels the same way.

He moves a piece of my hair behind my ear. “No, it’s ok. I could honestly turn in for the night.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m really tired from the trip. Let’s just go up to bed.”   
I make my way over to the stairs and Trevor follows, bringing the luggage upstairs with us. He dumps them on the floor and I sit on the edge of the bed. Trevor sits beside me, exhaling loudly, and clearly trying to gauge where I’m at mentally. 

Out of my peripherals, I can see him look at me. My hands are loosely interlocked in my lap, and he takes one in his hand. I look over at him and he purses his lips, looking like an unsure teenager. He takes the chance and leans in to kiss me. 

My hand rests on his cheek as I return his kiss with a more passionate one. I feel his hand slide down my leg and find my inner thigh. I can already feel both of us letting go of all our tension. We haven’t been able to be completely carefree for a year, and it feels so sinfully good.

* * *

The sun streaming in through the windows that nearly line the entire wall adjacent to the bed acts as a brutal wakeup call. We have thick curtains in our bedroom at home that mostly stay shut for this exact reason. Groggily, I slide out of bed and lumber over to the window to close the blinds. 

But first, I peer out of the floor-to-ceiling window and out at the sea that seems to go on for miles and miles past the horizon. I saunter off back to the bed and crawl in beside my husband. The crashing of the waves just outside is extremely calming, but not enough to aid me in my endeavor to return to sleep.

Trevor hasn’t moved a muscle since I’ve been awake. He’s laying on his back, one hand behind the pillow he’s sleeping on, and the other arm draped off the side of the bed. I watch him in his peaceful state and I’m overwhelmed with happiness that I don’t have to leave him immediately to feed the baby.

Gently, I trace the dotted line of his ‘Cut Here’ tattoo with my index finger. As I take in the feeling of his skin against mine, I remember the day he got that tattoo. It’s sums Trevor up pretty well. His eyes open slowly and he looks at me. The first thing he does is smile, and I smile back.

“What are you doing up already? We can sleep in past noon.” He says tiredly.

“I know, but I don’t want to. This is our first chance to spend two days together completely alone; I want to make the most out of them.” 

“Fair enough,” he yawns. He rolls out of bed and throws his iconic white v-neck on and his sweatpants. He falls back onto the bed next to me. His hand wraps around my upper arm and slides down where it interlocks with my hand. “You’re cold,” he notes. He pulls me over to him and wraps his arms around me, trying to warm me up.

In this moment, everything is perfect. There’s the silence, the dimly lit bedroom, the soft king-sized bed, and Trevor. I want to freeze this moment in time and just be able to remain here forever, without the obligations of life. It feels so good to not be needed anywhere specific or have to take care of anyone else but myself for the weekend. 

At the same time though, I think about Ryan every five seconds. I wonder if he’s behaving for Amanda and what they’re doing. It’s true, I could pick up the phone and call her. However, I told myself I wouldn’t touch my phone this weekend. I _need_ this time to myself, no matter how much the motherly part of me wants to fight it.

“Maybe we should go outside and sit in the sun. That’ll warm me up,” I suggest.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” He agrees.

We force ourselves out of the bed and trudge downstairs. Trevor wrestles with the large plastic slats that act as blinds for the sliding glass door that leads to the back porch while I quickly make myself a cup of tea. Then, I follow him out onto the back deck. He sits in a large deck chair and I can’t help but stop and gaze out at the sea.

“Come here,” he calls from behind me. Trevor pats his lap as an invitation to sit, and I slowly accept. We both stare out at the water that stretches out before us as the breeze picks up. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

I giggle, “We’re already married, T. See?” I joke. I hold out my left hand in front of him, showing off my ring.

He forces a smile. “Seriously,” he persists. 

“Ok,” I say as I feel myself growing anxious. I don’t know where this is going. “What is it?”

“Are you happy?” He asks in complete seriousness.

I look at him, trying to read his countenance. “Right now, yes.”

“What about other times?”

“No one is happy all the time, Trevor. Some days are better than others, obviously.” I take a nervous sip of tea from my cup. “Sometimes I wish I could be some place like this while I’m washing the dishes. Sometimes I wish _Johnny_ would take a vacation so we could have our house to ourselves for a weekend. Why?”

“It was just something I was thinking about,” he says.

“Are _you_ happy?” I ask him back.

“Yeah,” Trevor answers quickly and I can tell he’s telling the truth. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately about how we’re here for such a short time.”

“That’s deep,” I say with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Having a kid puts things into perspective for ya,” he sighs.

“Well, what else have you been thinking about?”

He pauses. “Honestly, that I love you so much and I feel like I’m not always seeing the bigger picture.”

I squint at him, “What do you mean? You never make me feel unloved.”

“I can’t believe it took me a year to finally take you out of town. You do so much for not just Ryan, but for me.” He says shamefully.

“To be fair, it’s been a busy year. Not to mention all the complications during the pregnancy before Ryan was even born. It’s been a busy _couple_ of years. I think this past year was the most normal one we’ve had and somehow, it’s been the hardest.”

“In a weird way, you’re very right. I’d like to make this a staple in our lives though. We need this time away.”

“I’d like that,” I smile at him. His grip around my waist tightens as he pulls me in closer. “I’ve actually been thinking about something too.”

“Go on,” he insists.

“You’ve changed so much since the accident.”

“In what way?”

“You don’t seem as angry, and that’s not a bad thing,” I laugh.

“We’ve never really talked about it, now that you mention it. We haven’t talked to each other about that whole period when you stayed with Michael and Amanda.” Trevor notes.

“You’re right. Maybe we should,” I sigh.

“Maybe it all happened for a reason. Maybe something was trying to tell us we both were being stupid and to just move on immediately.” He says pensively.

“It was a confusing time. You know, when Michael faked his death all those years ago I had you processing it right along with me. That was hard enough as it is, but with Johnny there were a lot of things that were different and more painful in a way.”

Genuinely, he replies, “I know that now. We should’ve planned it differently. I know this is extremely late, but I really am sorry for putting you through that.” I can already feel myself tearing up. “You’ve been through enough and you know it’s my first priority in life to make sure you’re happy. I never want to hurt you and I know I really fucked up on that.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I know you wouldn’t have done it if you knew how much it was going to hurt me.”

“I ended up hurting you and Johnny in the end. If I knew Ashley was going to-”

I cut him off, “It’s not your fault, Trevor. She was an addict beforehand. Johnny and I had to understand that to deal with it.” I can feel him relax slightly. “I really missed you when I was with Michael and Amanda. I wanted to come home sooner, but I didn’t know what to say to you.”

“You wouldn’t have had to say anything,” he says softly. “I was waiting for a text or a call from you every day during that time, and it always would’ve been welcomed.”

A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. My hand rest on his.. “ _I’m_ sorry I was so distant then. When Michael told me you were in an accident, I knew I should’ve gone home sooner. For the first time in a long time I was on the other side of it. I didn’t know if I was going to lose you or not.”

He wipes the tear away from my face. “After all we’ve been through, a little car accident isn’t going to do me in.” He smiles.

“Little?” I laugh. “You were bloody and already covered in bruises!”

“It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle,” he giggles.

“I swear, you _need_ me at home to watch out for you.”

“That’s true; I do need you.”

“I need you too. Just don’t scare me like that again!” I playfully punch his shoulder.

“There’s something I never told you about the accident,” he mentions blankly. “ I think I’ve been avoiding saying it out loud.” 

“What is it?” I ask apprehensively.

“I woke up for a brief second on the street. All I could see was broken glass everywhere, but then I saw my mother. She was standing on the other side of the road and just shook her head like she was disappointed.” Trevor says stoically. My throat feels tight and I start to feel a little faint. Trevor seems to notice because he gives me an odd look. “Are you ok? All the color just drained from your face.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” I assure him. “I think there’s something I need to tell you too.”

“I have no idea what you’re about to follow that up with.” His eyebrows raise in anticipation.

“You remember when I was giving birth to Ryan and I started to hemorrhage?”

“It’s been hard to forget,” He audibly exhales.

“I don’t remember this, but you told me after I woke up that I mumbled ‘Ryan’ right before I passed out. I didn’t want to believe what I saw because I was scared that I was losing my mind, but I swear I saw your brother in the corner of the hospital room.” 

“You know I’m a fairly logical person,” he begins. “Compared to Ron, who gets on that Radio show and talks about conspiracy theories, I’m a logical person. But, I believe you.”

“You’ve always believed me,” I smile at him. 

“Being in that accident did change my perspective on things. I partly blame myself for the accident because I was in a rage and not paying as much attention to the road as I should’ve. After I saw my mother, I thought a lot about how unhappy I would’ve been if I did die then and there. I would’ve left with my wife being extremely upset with me, and little to my knowledge then, upset and pregnant.” 

“Oh, now there’s something I don’t think you know about,” I roll my eyes sarcastically. “Just minutes before Michael stormed in to give me the news, I was puking my guts out. Amanda literally gave me a trash can to take in the car because I couldn’t stop throwing up. Thanks a lot, Trevor!” I laugh

“What did I do?!” He exclaims jokingly.

“Well I didn’t get myself pregnant!” 

We both laugh together. It’s been a long time since we shared that, just the two of us. I love hearing him laugh. It sounds cheesy, but it really is almost like music to my ears. The wind picks up and he brushes my hair out of my face again. He looks up at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s seen. 

“Have you thought about maybe having another one?” I ask him. 

“Another what?” I give him a look. “A kid? No!”

“You don’t want another one?” 

“Not after what we went through with Ryan. You almost died!” He emphasizes. “Also, I can barely keep up with him as it is. He’s growing so fast.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve started to see why people usually do have another one.” I say wishfully. “Being pregnant isn’t all that fun, but the payoff is so worth it when you can finally hold the baby in your arms.”

“Isn’t it a weird thought that one day he’ll probably have kids of his own?” 

“Ew,” I grimace, “I don’t like the thought of being a grandmother yet. I’m too young.”

Trevor laughs. “Me too.”

Someone else in a beach house a few rows down starts to blare classic 80’s music from their back porch. The smell of hamburgers drifts over a few minutes later. Trevor and I look out at the sea in front of us, and it feels just like a movie. The only thing that could make this better is if we were on a boat out in the ocean.

Trevor’s phone begins to ring in his pocket, interrupting the moment. We exchange unsure glances and he tries to shift himself to dig the phone out of his pocket. I move slightly to allow him to do so. 

“It’s Michael,” he informs me as he answers it and puts it on speaker-phone. “Hey, Mikey! What do I owe this call to today while I’m on a lovely, quiet vacation with my wife?” Trevor says sarcastically.

“Yeah, I know you two are trying to relax. I’m sorry, but I had to call. Amanda tried calling (your name), but she said she wasn’t answering.” Says Michael.

“My phone is turned off, I think.” I tell him. “Anyway, what’s up?”

“We don’t think Ryan slept very much last night and now he won’t stop crying. I’ve _never_ heard this kid cry this much; he’s usually so quiet, so Amanda and I feel like we’ve screwed up big time. We tried everything we used to do for Tracey and Jimmy, but nothing works.”

Without missing a beat, Trevor answers. “Put Channel X on for ‘em.”

“Uh, should he be listening to that?” Michael hesitates.

“He’s one for fuck’s sake. He’s just starting to talk. It’s fine.”

“Ok,” Michael says in a sing-song manner that shows his reluctance. 

In the background, we can hear Ryan’s muffled cries and then punk music soon follows. Trevor and I listen closely to try to discern what’s happening in the De Santa household. A sound similar to static emits from the phone as Michael picks it back up.

“I never would’ve guessed to do that, but he stopped crying.” Michael says awestruck. 

“Hey, you’re welcome.” Trevor says confidently and hangs up the phone. He starts laughing.

“How many times have you put punk on for him without my knowledge?” I ask with a devilish smirk.

“Never,” Trevor continues to laugh. “I just wanted to see if it would work.”

“What’s so funny?”

“He fell asleep to Channel X. He’s definitely our kid.”

* * *

Trevor follows me in from outside. He slides the back door shut and locks it. I feel the walls for the light switch. We forgot to turn on a lamp at least when we went outside before the sun went down. Eventually, I find it and flick on the light in the center of the living room.

The air conditioning turns on and causes me to shiver as it brushes against my water-drenched skin. I clutch the towel around me even tighter in an effort to preserve warmth. I book it up the stairs and to the warmth of the shower.

About a minute or so later, Trevor walks into the bathroom. He throws his towel in the pile of dirty clothes I created on the floor off to the side. Next, he opens the glass shower door which causes me to shiver as he lets the cold air in. 

“I think we picked the wrong night for a midnight swim,” I laugh. “The temperature dropped much lower than what it was last night.”

“Tell me about it,” he scoffs. “My balls feel like they’re in my stomach.”

“Charming,” I say sarcastically.

“Besides becoming a popsicle, are you having fun so far?” 

I turn to face him and rest my arms on his shoulders. “Being with you is always fun.”

“You know, I could call Johnny and Franklin and tell them I’m taking a few extra days off.” 

“I would beg you to do that if it weren’t for Ryan. Amanda and Michael are probably realizing how happy they are that their children are grown up and I already miss him too much.”

“I miss him too.” Trevor says quietly.

“But?” I notice the melancholy in his tone.

“But I miss spending time with just you.”

“Trev, you know I’m always available.” I try to console him.

“I know, but we’re both also available to everyone else all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love that kid more than I love myself. I just miss the times where you and I could disappear somewhere and no one needed us and we could stay wherever as long as we wanted.”

“We’ve never had our lives so grounded in one place before and I think it’s been a rough adjustment for both of us, but I know you’re having an especially hard time. I’m going to be completely honest: I think you insisted on this trip more for yourself than for me, and that’s perfectly fine.”

He sighs, “And there’s my little psychologist. Maybe you’re right. We both really needed a break.”

“That and it’s not in either one of our nature to stay in one place for too long. I wouldn’t quite say we don’t like to be tied down because we’ve been together since we were teenagers, but we definitely don’t like being tied to places.” I add.

“I definitely love having people in my life I can depend on, but I _don’t_ like having places to depend on. I know this is a problem I’m going to have to sort out, but one bad memory can ruin a place for me much quicker than it can ruin a person.” Trevor admits.

“That makes sense when you think about the life you’ve had. You learned to cope with clashing personalities that you had to depend on when you were a kid, but you could still walk in the living room in the trailer you grew up in, look at the blood staining the carpet, and remember that’s where your mother beat you with pan.” 

He looks down at the water flowing past our feet and down the drain. I don’t know what’s going through his head most of the time, but I know it must be painful. Who the hell knows how he does it. I don’t know if I could make it in Trevor’s shoes. His strength has always been something I’ve admired about him.

He looks back up at me. “This trip has already allowed me to get a lot of weight off my shoulders. What do you say we try to not think about all that shit and just enjoy tomorrow?”

“Sounds wonderful to me,” I smile at him warmly and I can tell it already cheers him up.

We finish up our mutual shower, towel off, and then get into comfier clothes. Trevor hits the bed, already completely exhausted. I slide into the bed, also wanting nothing more than to go straight to sleep. Sitting in the sun all day will do that to you. However, as I begin to slowly lay down, I feel the deep sting in my back. Yep, I have a sunburn.

"Does it hurt to lay down for you too?" Trevor asks.

"Yep," I say, trying not to move too much. "We should've known."

"I just want to let you know that I would love to hold you right now as we're trying to go to sleep, but that's just a little physically impossible right now." He informs me.

"It's ok, Trevor. I understand." I laugh at him. I hold my hand out to him and it's slightly illuminated by the moonlight peeking in through the curtains. "We can just hold hands tonight."

"That works." He goes to take my hand, and makes pained noises with every slight movement. 

"Looks like we're going to the store later today for aloe vera," I sigh.

"Or in fifteen minutes. Depends on if I can actually sleep," he replies dramatically.

"Maybe you should sleep on your side or your stomach."

"But I'm a back sleeper!" He whines.

"Oh my god," I giggle. "You're worse than our one year old!"

He simply makes a noise in agreement. Once we're both quiet, I can hear the waves outside again. I inhale and exhale deeply as I start to relax more into the bed. Trevor already begins to snore beside me and I roll my eyes. I then close them and try to tune out his snoring and just focus on the waves. This is a luxury I can't get back in Los Santos.


	4. Home

“If we’re going to come back here so often, maybe we should just buy a beach house.” I suggest to Trevor as he loads the last of the bags into the truck. 

“Do you really want to make payments on a beach house in Chumash, a mansion in Los Santos, and a trailer in Sandy Shores?” He asks rhetorically.

“Well, we technically only make payments on utilities for each of those. It’s not like it’ll make a dent in our bank account,” I roll my eyes. “Maybe we should formally transfer the trailer to Ron. It’ll make it easier for him to make improvements and whatnot around the property.”

“I’ll get right on that as soon as I finish packing up the truck.”

“Hey! Don’t give me attitude; it was just a suggestion.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. You know I’m a little stressed out about heading back.”

“I know, Trev, but we have to go back eventually.”

We climb into the truck together and he starts it reluctantly. As much as he’s being a baby about going back home, he’s going to be glad to be home once he sees Ryan again. I know I will.

He drives at a leisurely pace down the highway. The faint smell of salt in the air reminds me we have a long trip ahead of us. I don’t mind though. The car ride is one of the highlights of trips for me. Trevor is one of the few people that understands that.

* * *

When we arrive home, Johnny is in the driveway working on the Hexer. At this point, that thing will never break down because of the frequent attention he gives it. Johnny opens the car door for me and welcomes Trevor and I home. 

“Was everything ok while we were gone?” I ask Johnny.

“As far as I can tell. How was Chumash?” 

“Beautiful, as always. Maybe we’ll all go there one day.”

“I’d like to see it some day,” Johnny says as he goes back to working on his bike.

Trevor and I carry the bags inside and up the stairs to our room. He throws them at the foot of the bed, but I at least put the bags I’m carrying in the closet. When I walk back into the bedroom, Trevor is facedown on the bed. I sit next to him with the little room he has given me with his body sprawled across the bed. Lightly, my hand rests on his back to comfort him. His sunburn is already doing better because he doesn’t flinch at my touch. 

“Amanda texted me a few minutes ago. She said she’ll watch Ryan tonight so we can settle in today and then pick him up tomorrow. She also said they’re wanting to have lunch or something like that.” I inform Trevor.

“Fine, I just need a nap right now,” he mumbles into the blanket.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it then.”

“You don’t want to join me?” 

“I want to get our clothes put away. I’ll try to stay quiet so you can go to sleep.”

With that, I drag the bags Trevor threw at the foot of the bed to the closet. The clothes are separated into clean and dirty piles based on what bag they’re in. The bags full of dirty clothes are dumped straight into the hamper, and I put the clean ones away.

While I finish up putting our clothes in their respective places, I notice an unfamiliar shirt. I inspect it and fold it anyway. It’s a men’s t-shirt, but I know every article of clothing Trevor has and I don’t recognize it. 

I peek into the bedroom. “T, are you still awake?”

“Unfortunately,” he mumbles into a pillow. He looks over his shoulder at me. “Why?”

“Did you get a new t-shirt while we were in Chumash?” I'm confident I already know the answer since I was with him the whole time, but I hold the shirt up for him to see anyway.

His eyebrows knit together as he looks at the slate gray shirt in my hands. “No. Maybe it’s Johnny’s and it got mixed up in the wash.”

Trevor seems completely unbothered by it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Johnny wear this color shirt. He’s a guy of simple style, much like Trevor. White crew neck t-shirts suit Johnny just fine underneath his leather jacket he insists on wearing even in the scorching summer temperatures of Los Santos. 

I curiously make my way downstairs and back out to the driveway, where Johnny is working on his bike. He gives me a welcoming nod as he notices me approaching. The t-shirt sits awkwardly in my hand, like a waitress carrying an over encumbered platter.

“Is this your t-shirt, Johnny K?” I ask him.

He looks it over as he wipes grease from his hands. “No. This is all I wear.” Johnny glances down at the white undershirt he has on. 

“Well I know it isn’t Trevor’s,” I sigh.

“You like to wear guys’ t-shirts for comfort sometimes; are you sure it isn’t yours or maybe Michael’s?” Johnny tries to be helpful.

“No, no one except for you, Trevor, and I have ever had clothes here. Also, I’d remember clothes I own, Johnny.” I retort with attitude.

“Ok, ok,” he says defensively. “I’m just spitballing here.”

“I’m sorry,” I say as I lean against his motorcycle defeatedly. “Trevor’s stressed out to be back home and I don’t want to admit I’m a little on edge too.”

“Is something wrong?” He asks curiously.

“Not really,” I tell him, “I’m just worried that Trevor isn’t taking enough time out for himself.”

Johnny laughs, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard a wife say that about her husband.”

“I’m serious, Johnny. He wanted to take this trip for me, but it became clear to me he needed it more than I did.”

“Well, what do you think is going on?” He moves his hands to his hips. 

“While we were in Chumash, I brought it to his attention that he’s been less angry since the accident. I feel like it shook him up enough to make him want to change, but I think he’s trying too hard.”

“I’ve noticed that too, but isn’t that a good thing?” 

“Yes and no,” I exhale dramatically. “It’s good for his health and for my peace of mind, but he’s going to explode one day. This is _Trevor_ we’re talking about.” I remind Johnny.

“I don’t know, (your name). I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit. He seems really happy now. I can tell by the way he looks at you and Ryan.” He says.

“I appreciate your opinion, but I’m usually not wrong when it comes to him.”

Johnny doesn’t argue that point. He goes to pick up all the tools he left out in the driveway to work on his Hexer and moves them into the garage. I go back into the house and place the shirt in the closet upstairs for safekeeping until we can find its owner. 

Next, I wander into the backyard by myself. It needs a lot of attention and it stresses me out to look at it after Trevor went haywire one day after a fight. However, no one uses the backyard all that much because it’s in shambles. This makes it a calm place where you can be alone. 

I sit on the lounge chair I caught Trevor on one night smoking meth about two years ago. My hand glides across the soft fabric that covers the padding to the chair. That memory seems like so long ago, and disjointed from the present. I’m having a lot of trouble lately connecting the past to the present. 

It doesn’t feel like me. It doesn’t feel like Trevor. Everyone, including myself, feels like different people and they _are_. However, I’ve suddenly found myself in a communicative impasse. How am I supposed to relate to others when I’m unsure how to relate to myself? I thought Trevor and I had finally made it, but now I’m realizing the aftermath of everything is just beginning.

My phone weasels itself out of my pocket and falls to the patch of grass around my feet. Slowly, I pick it up and hold it in my hand. It almost seems like a message to not isolate myself right now. I need to get out of my head. I find Michael’s number and call him.

“Hey! You two back home yet?” Michael answers cheerfully.

“Yeah, we got back an hour or two ago.”

“You ok? You sound kinda down,” He notices.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been overthinking a lot. Trevor gives me the impression that he’s fine with pretending like everything’s ok. Johnny too.” I relay to Michael.

“Jesus, you need a hobby,” Michael jokes. “I don’t think the civilian life is for you or Trevor, and you’re both having trouble adjusting to it. That’s probably all it is, but it gets a little easier as time goes on.”

“Getting back in the game isn’t an option for us, Mikey. We vowed to each other that we’d be done with it after the UD when we found out I was pregnant. On top of that, I feel so disconnected from my life before we moved to Los Santos.”

“I don’t think I follow,” Michael says.

“After Trevor and I moved here, it symbolized us becoming everything our past selves worked so hard to achieve. We no longer had to work as hard. Honestly, we didn’t have to do jobs at all anymore. I don’t feel like my old self. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, and I’m scared to find out.”

He sighs, “I know how you feel. That’s how I felt after North Yankton.” Both of us are silent for a second. “It was almost like an identity crisis for me. I left everything I knew behind for a new life and even was given a new name to go along with it. I _really_ didn’t know who I was for a good amount of time.”

“I don’t quite feel it on that level, but I just feel like I could be doing more. I feel lazy compared to how I used to be. I have everything I could ask for and then some, so it’s very frustrating to still feel incomplete.” I say.

Michael laughs. “That’s just how being wealthy is, (your name). You’re ok. Nothing is wrong with you. You just have an expendable income and you’re now a criminal-turned-straightlaced-parent. Both you and Trevor are going through a rough adjustment period. That’s all. I promise.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I ask.

“Start drinking and daytrading,” Michael says sarcastically. “I can’t really answer that _for_ you. You have to be the one to figure out what gets your gears turning again. Maybe it actually would be good for you to try out different hobbies.”

“Maybe a trip to the shooting range would do me some good.”

“There you go!” He says enthusiastically. “You want to go next week? I like to go every now and again to keep my skills sharp.”

“That’d be fun. I'll see you then, Mikey.”

We hang up and I tuck my phone back in my pocket. A sinking feeling appears in my stomach. I think I’m just as stressed out as Trevor about being home. Just when we thought everything was falling into place, things begin to not make sense anymore.

Out of my peripherals, I suddenly see someone standing over me. I flinch and quickly look up to see Trevor. He walks around to the side of the chair I'm sitting on without averting his gaze, and sits down next to me. I can tell he’s looking at me with intense concern, and I don’t like the way it feels.

“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” He asks tiredly.

“I just wanted to relax.”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re all that relaxed by how startled you were by my presence. What’s going on with you?” He asks sincerely.

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” he persists.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.” 

He chuckles. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m the king of crazy! There’s nothing you can say to me that’s going to make me think you’re crazy or think any less of you.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“Well,” I begin, “I just feel so disconnected.”

“From what?” Trevor asks.

“From our past,” I say as I look into his eyes.

“I know how you feel and it isn’t a bad thing. You’re just growing. You’re becoming a better person and letting go of the past.” He comforts me. “It feels uncomfortable, I know, but soon things will feel like they used to.”

We go silent and I take a minute to think about what he said. It seems impossible that this overwhelming feeling is a sign of progress, but maybe Trevor is right. We both agree that this new side to life has granted us the opportunity to finally really understand everything that has happened to us, but why does progress have to be so difficult?

* * *

Trevor, painstakingly, tries to scrub caked and dried mud off his boots. I sit beside him on the bed, watching the mud flake off and pile up underneath him on the floor. This should make me angry, but I’m only slightly annoyed. Why he chooses to do this indoors, I’ll never know.

“Can you stop doing that for a second?” 

He tosses his shoe down, grumpily, “No problem. That shit is on there good and it’s pissing me off. Oh, and sorry about the mess. I’ll get to it in a few minutes.”

“I’m not really worried about the dirt right now, but you _better_ clean it up later. I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“Let me hear it,” he says in anticipation.

“What would be enough to make you worry about the cat and the shirt?”

He scoffs, “Nothing.”

“Just humor me, Trevor.”

He sits back on the bed and thinks hard. “I’d be worried if we found an animal _in_ the house.”

I sigh and give him a look. "So dead animals piling up outside wouldn't be a red flag to you?”

He leans forward and wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his part of the bed so he can hold me. “You’ve been so hyper-aware of everything. Would you just calm down. I’m here. I’ve got everything under control.”

I sit up rigidly and straddle his legs. The collar of his shirt is bunched up in my hand and my face hovers a few inches above his. “Prove it.”

He smiles deviously up at me, “The strangest things get you going sometimes.” He pulls me in for a passionate kiss. 

“That’s cute,” I smile and say just above a whisper.

“What’s cute?” He inquires.

“That you think this is going anywhere.” I get up off the bed and make my way towards the bedroom door.

He grunts in frustration. “What. A. Tease.”

Before I walk out the door, I turn and give him a smirk and a wink. I head downstairs for a late night snack. Johnny is sitting on the couch and watching something on TV. I grab a banana off the counter and sit beside him on the couch.

He lowers the volume on the TV and looks at me. “Hey, is everything ok? I haven’t heard much from either of you since you’ve been back from Chumash.”

“Trevor seems to think so. Before we left, we found a dead cat that had it’s head cut clean off out by the trash cans. He’s convinced that it’s nothing, but I think otherwise.” I tell Johnny with my mouth full.

He gives me an odd look. “Why didn’t you tell me that before you left? That’s kinda a big deal.”

“Like I said, Trevor thinks it’s nothing.”

“Between us, I don’t think that’s nothing. I’m not really sure what it is, but it isn’t _nothing_.” He gives me that same odd look and changes the channel, raising the volume by the remote again. “I’ll talk to him.”

I laugh, “Don’t bother. He’s made up his mind. I'll figure something out, Johnny.” I get up and throw my banana peel away and make my way back upstairs to Trevor.

As I walk back into the bedroom and close the door, I notice his boots are now next to the door to the closet and the flakes of mud have been cleaned up. Trevor is nowhere to be found though. I take a few more steps into the room and feel arms wrap around my waist. Trevor picks me up and drops me onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” I giggle uncontrollably.

“Looking at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he smiles down at me.

“You’re just trying to butter me up,” I wrap my arms around his neck.

“No, I’m not,” he says genuinely. “I don’t know why you chose me, but I’m so incredibly glad you did.”

“Oh stop,” I playfully slap his arm. “There aren’t a lot of reasons for me not to choose you.”

He kisses me and smiles, “I’m thankful you think that.” He sits up.

I get up and wrap my arms around him from behind. “Do you remember when we were living in Sandy Shores and I had been having a particularly rough week? I had finally hit my limit and I was bawling my eyes out. Poor Ron and Wade didn’t know what was wrong or what to say and you had just walked in the door from working all day at the lab. You walked in the door, saw me crying, and told me to get in the truck.”

“I took you to that bridge near the Zancudo River,” he adds to the recollection of the memory. “What made you think of that?”

“You told me something that night that has stuck with me through a lot of tough times. I’ve gotten a lot of use out of it in the past, and I think it would help me to remember it right now.”

“Ok, let’s hear it,” he urges.

“You climbed onto the hood of the truck, made me get up there too, and you told me to lay back and look at the stars. Then, you told me that even though some nights are darker than others, the stars shine just the same every night. Sometimes it seems like they’re not there, and those are the nights you have to find them for yourself.”

“I was a lot wiser then,” he smiles at me lovingly.

“I think you’re even wiser now,” I tell him. “You don’t even realize how much you’ve helped me through this past year.”

“You’ve helped me too. You've made becoming a father a lot less scary for me, which means so much. You don't even know," he shakes his head emphatically, "I was scared out of my mind.”

“Everyone feels like that when they’re becoming a parent. It’s ok.”

“Yeah, I understand people are a little anxious to raise another human being at first, but you know how my upbringing was. I _really_ didn’t think I could do it.”

“Look at you now,” I smile. “You’re so good with Ryan. I don’t think anyone would believe how anxious you were if they saw how effortlessly you interact with him now. That includes yourself.”

"It's because I have you," he says as he takes my hand. "You've kept me grounded ever since I met you."

"You've kept me grounded for just as long too," I lean in for a kiss. "Now, let's go to bed. I want to wake up and see our Ryan again."

"Right there with ya, sweetie," he says as he pulls the covers up and over us. I turn out the light and the room is pitch black.


	5. The Dog

Today is the day! We’ll be picking Ryan up at Michael and Amanda’s house. Trevor moves slowly, but with enthusiasm to see his son again. A few days away from him feels like weeks after being with him every single day for a full year. Both of us are doing everything we can to get to Michael and Amanda’s quicker.

“Where did you put the cheddar cheese?” I ask Trevor as I scan the kitchen counters.

He points to the kitchen island with a hand caked in cream cheese. “Right there, cupcake.”

“Perfect,” I say as I grab the block of cheese, “but you didn’t have to soften the cream cheese with your hands.” I giggle.

He checks his watch. “They’re starting in 45 minutes; this is the fastest way,” he insists as he continues to manhandle the cream cheese.

As fast and cleanly as I can, I take the cheese grater and start running the cheddar cheese along the side of it. I watch as the brick becomes smaller and smaller as it’s sliced into thin sheets. Trevor riskily sneaks a finger near the grater and grabs a slice of cheese off the plate.

“Before you eat all the cheese, can you start cutting up the jalapeños?” 

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” he says jokingly. He grabs the bag of jalapeños and dumps them onto the cutting board. Trevor picks one up, breaks it open, and smells it. “Woo! Yep, that’s a good one.”

“Hurry, Trev, I’m getting ready to put all the ingredients together.” I urge.

“I’m chopping! I’m chopping!” He says defensively as I begin to hear the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board.

The cheddar cheese and cream cheese are placed in a deep casserole dish together. I try my best to mix them with a wooden spoon. When Trevor is done chopping the jalapeños, he slides them into the mixture. I continue stirring, and when everything looks evenly mixed I top it with a thin layer of breadcrumbs.

Then, I place it in the oven and let it melt for about 15 to 20 minutes. Trevor stands in front of the oven door impatiently, still with cream cheese all over his hands. I can’t help but laugh as he watches the dip in the oven like watching paint dry.

“It’s not going to cook any faster with you gawking at it,” I joke.

“I know, I just-”

“You’re just ready to get to Ryan,” I smile. 

“Yeah, basically.” He admits.

“You should wash your hands before you track cream cheese all over the house.”

He looks down at his hands as if he forgot they’re completely covered. Trevor turns the sink on and washes his hands, making the water look like milk. I toss the rest of the dirty kitchen utensils into the sink while he has it running. 

“Don’t you like cream cheese? You used to just spread it on crackers all the time.” He says to me.

“Who doesn’t like cream cheese?” I ask rhetorically.

“Well then, this was a waste,” he says with a smirk. “I should’ve just wiped it all over myself and let you lick it off.”

I hate that that makes me smile, so I roll my eyes. “We don’t have that kind of time, T. Plus, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop getting turned on in the kitchen. That one day on the kitchen table really did a number on my back.”

“But it was worth it!” 

I walk over to the oven and check on the dish. The temperature is hotter than it’s supposed to be because we’re short on time, and it seems as good as done. I put on the oven mits and remove the dip from the oven. It’s placed on a potholder and wrapped up so I can carry it in the car without being burned.

“Alright, I think we’re all set,” I say excitedly. “You grab the dip and I’ll get the chips.”

I collect the bag of tortilla chips from the pantry and head for the door. Trevor is still messing around in the kitchen, much to my chagrin. I turn the knob, open the front door, and peer down the hall for my slowpoke of a husband.

“Come on, Trev! We gotta go! Michael and Amanda are expecting us,” I call down the hall as I step outside. 

Before I know it, I’m on the ground. Thankfully, I land on my ass which prevents further injury. Un-thankfully, my tailbone is in excruciating pain from hitting the hard concrete covered with tile. My hands are on either side of me on the tile, but it feels more slick than usual. I bring them up and look at them. They’re covered in blood.

I slipped and fell on _blood_. It drips down from my hands and onto my clothes. I’m in total shock. I don’t know what to do. I look down between my feet and there’s a large dog’s head. I look even further, past the stone steps, and see the rest of its body in pieces. There’s an arm there, a leg there, it’s torso over there, and another arm there. 

Trevor finally appears in the doorway and nearly drops the dip when he sees the predicament I’m in. Carefully, he puts the dish to the side on the front steps. He hooks his hand in the crook of my elbow and hoists me up to my feet. I slide a little, but he steadies me by holding me by my arms.

“Are you ok?! Is any of this yours?” He asks worriedly.

“No, none of it’s mine,” is all I manage to say.

“Thank god,” he says looking relieved.

“Do you believe me now at least?” I reply sternly.

“There’s definitely no denying that there’s something going on. Johnny and I will put up cameras outside. Come inside,” he tells me, “you need to clean yourself up. I’ll get rid of the body parts and hose down the blood.”

He holds out his hand and I take it so that I don’t slip on the blood again. I kick off my bloody shoes and leave them outside. Careful not to touch anything, I go upstairs and get in the shower with my clothes on. 

The shower is cold and gets most of the blood out already. I do my best to peel off the wet clothing and leave it in the corner of the shower. However, the smell lingers. That blood must have been out there cooking in the sun for a decent amount of time. I wish I knew how long exactly. That thought sends a chill down my spine.

Quickly, I have to get ready all over again. My hair has to be blown dry because it doesn’t have time to air dry. My makeup has to be redone, but I don’t have time to do it exactly as I had it. I swiftly find an outfit and throw it on, and then meet Trevor out in the driveway.

I grab the dish and he holds the passenger door to the truck open for me. He shuts it after I’m in and then gets in the driver’s side. I’m not even quite sure what to say about what just happened. Trevor seems to be struggling with his words as well.

“Are you going to be ok? I can go get Ryan and tell Michael and Amanda something came up.” He says.

“I’ll be ok, I think. I definitely don’t want to be home alone now, so that’s not an option.” I reply quietly.

I don’t say much during the short car ride over to Michael and Amanda’s house. Trevor and I sit in the truck in their driveway for a few silent seconds. He looks at me, but I continue to stare off into the space ahead. The smell is still burned into my memory.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

I look at him. “Of course I’m not ok. What does this mean, Trevor?! Are we safe anymore? I don’t know how I feel about taking Ryan back home after this. Who would do something like this and why are they doing it?”

“For the time being, I think we’re safe. If they wanted to hurt us, they probably would’ve already. Let’s just go inside, have a good time with our friends, see our beautiful son, and try not to think about all of that right now.”

“It’s so easy for you. Nothing bothers you about any of this,” I say in a snarky way as I slide out of the truck. 

He walks with me to the backyard with an arm around my lower back. Los Santos Rock Radio spills out to the walkway around the house from the backyard. The smell of meat cooking on a grill already hangs in the summer air. Amanda spots me and Trevor and practically runs up to us. 

She gives me a side hug since I’m holding a casserole dish. “Hi! I’m so glad you guys are here! This is going to be so fun! Tracey just texted me that she’s about to head home; she just got out of class.”

“We’re both glad to be here too. We made this cheese and jalapeño dip,” I hold the dish out to her. “I hope you have chips. There was kind of an incident with the ones we were going to bring.”

“Is everything ok? You two look a little shaken,” she asks, genuinely concerned as she takes the dip from me.

“It’s nothing to be worried about, according to Trevor,” I tell her bitterly. “Where’s my baby boy?” I quickly change the subject.

“He’s inside. He _just_ fell asleep.” She informs me.

“I’ll let him sleep then,” I reply as we walk further into the backyard. “Hey, Michael! Smells great!”

“Good! It’s a new grill,” he says enthusiastically. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect day to use it for a cookout. How are you guys?”

“We’re alright. Things could be better,” I answer honestly. Michael gives me a look through his sunglasses that I can’t read, but I’ll guess it’s curiosity.

“Things _are_ better,” Trevor corrects me. “Nothing out of the ordinary, for us!”

“Alright,” Michael says as he puts down the metal tongs in his hand, “what’s going on with you two? You’re both being cagey as fuck.”

“Oh, you know,” I start with a sarcastic tone, “someone is butchering animals and placing them around our house. The _usual_.”

“I am thinking about it, whether you think I am or not,,” Trevor tries to assure me and Michael. 

“It doesn’t sound like you’re handling it at all,” Michael says, being brutally honest.

“Look, Mikey, she’s really torn up about it and I didn’t want to get into it. Ok? On a side note, how did things turn out with that hit that Norton guy sent you out on?”

He pauses a moment before he answers, wondering if he should push the subject of the dead, butchered animals. Michael decides against it. “I’m $100,000 richer, if that’s any indication of how it went.”

“That’s not too bad, for someone just coming into the game,” Trevor jeers.

“I know. For all the shit Davey has made me do, he owes me a lot more green than just a mere 100K. I’m a little pissed, but money is money,” Michael sighs. “Every little bit helps when you’ve got a wife with Amanda’s shopping habits.”

“I’m lucky enough not to relate to that,” Trevor says as he kisses me on the cheek.

I decide to see what Amanda’s doing, so I go inside. In the living room, I can see Ryan asleep in his carrier. My heart already settles just at the sight of him. I walk into the kitchen and sit at the island while Amanda puts different platters of food together. Her hostess skills always amaze me.

“Need any help?” I ask.

“Not really. I would’ve needed help with the last dish I had planned, but since you brought that dip you pretty much saved me an extra hour of cooking. It smells and looks so good, by the way! Jimmy loves anything with a lot of cheese in it, so we’ll have to have some before he devours it all.”

“I hope everyone likes it; I know Trevor does. I haven’t made it in a while. My mom used to make it as an appetizer for brunches she would attend.” I reminisce.

Her smile fades and she looks up at me. “I don’t think I’ve really ever heard you talk about your mother other then when you’re talking about a recipe of hers.”

I shrug. “Her cooking and recipes are the fondest memories I have of her.”

“We don’t have to talk about her if it’s uncomfortable for you,” Amanda says.

“No, it’s ok. After I had Ryan, I told myself that I need to become more comfortable talking about heavier subjects. There’s going to come a day when he’s going to start asking those kinds of questions, and I want to be open and honest with him.”

“Was she not a nice person?” She wonders awkwardly.

“She was nice when she had a city lunch to attend. She was raised in a family that was heavily in the public eye, and that’s where she was most comfortable being herself. At home, she was an alcoholic.” I admit to Amanda.

She covers her mouth. “I never would’ve guessed. What was it like growing up with a mother like that?” 

“It was really disappointing because sometimes, she’d come home from being out all morning and already buzzed; she started to hide alcohol in her car. So, when she arrived in the driveway, she’d down a couple of those mini bottles of alcohol they give you on airplanes. I didn’t like to speak to her when she was like that because there wasn’t a point; she wouldn’t remember the interaction the next day. We wouldn’t speak for days at a time, and I blamed myself for that sometimes.”

“Why? It’s _her_ fault that she had a problem,” Amanda says in my defense.

“I know that now. I had confronted her about it, and that’s when she started to hide it. I was the one making the active decision not to speak to her when she was inebriated, so I felt like the non-interaction was my fault. Times got really hard like that because I didn’t have _that_ many friends and I had no car, so I was stuck at home a majority of the time with no one to talk to. My dad worked insane hours and he enabled my mother, so I just felt alone and stuck.”

“Until you met Trevor, I’m guessing?” She smirks.

I smile immediately. “Yes, until I met Trevor. He came into my life at one of my lowest points and he really changed my perspective on things.”

“How so?” She asks, being a sucker for stories of romance.

“He made me realize that it’s completely up to me whether I’m stuck or not. I had to learn to ‘unstick’ myself _for_ myself.” 

“So how did you ‘unstick’ yourself?” She asks curiously.

“Honestly, I allowed myself to fall in love,” I sigh happily. “I allowed it to take me wherever it wanted me to go, and that was straight into Trevor’s arms.”

Amanda smiles with tears in her eyes. “You two are like a goddamn romantic comedy sometimes,” she says as she dabs at the inner corner of her eye. “So sweet!”

“You and Michael are your own kind of romantic comedy. The two of you are like the classic rom-com.” I say. “The popular guy is into the badass, kind of an outcast, chick, but he’s worried about what the others will think of him. At first it seems like it’s going to be unrequited love, but they end up working it out, they get married, and have kids.”

“I guess you’re right, but I wish we had more of a story. The reality of it is that we happened to be at the same place at the same time and thought the other one was attractive. Fast forward a few months of dating, and he knocks me up. We have a shotgun wedding, one more kid, and then comes the hurricane of depression.” She rolls her eyes as she finishes plating all the food.

I laugh. “When you explain it like that, of course it sounds lackluster.”

“Well, how would _you_ tell that story? I’ve been _dying_ to find a better way to tell people when they ask.”

“I’d start with your feelings, if you were a little on the down side before you met Michael. Then, say something about how the lights in the club made his blue eyes stand out or something like that. Next, say that there was so much strong chemistry between the two of you that things started to move pretty fast. Tracey came along and explain how that was the sign that told you that you were meant to be with Michael. You two decided to get married and the rest is history.”

“God,” Amanda sighs and puts a hand on her hip, “you should’ve been a poet.”

“I’m not saying anything that you haven’t, it’s just adding the emotional aspect to it. I understand that it might be hard to be emotionally honest with people, but that’s what pulls on their heartstrings.” I reply.

“You know all too well how the emotional aspect of our marriage has been,” she rolls her eyes again. “He has no idea how to be romantic.”

“Amanda,” I start, “I want to be brutally honest with you.”

She stops and looks at me. “Ok. I’d like you to be.”

“I think that you’ve been scared to let Michael be romantic with you, so you push away all his attempts.” I suggest to her.

“Explain,” she says eagerly.

“Michael was unfaithful to you, and I think ever since that happened you’ve been afraid to be romantic with him. You’ve pushed him away in that aspect to try to prevent him from hurting you like that again. That’s totally understandable, by the way.”

She squints at me. “That actually makes complete sense to me. What planet were you dropped in from because you are insanely intuitive.”

I laugh again. “You think I should’ve been a poet and Trevor has always told me I should’ve been a psychologist.”

“He’s so right,” Amanda agrees enthusiastically with him. “So, what do you suggest I do to break this cycle?”

“Surprise _him_ by doing something romantic. Plan a date and don’t tell him where you’re going, something like that. Guys like surprises just as much as us girls.”

“This is going to come out like a backhanded compliment, but I’m going to say it anyway. It’s amazing to me that Trevor is capable of having a long term relationship, but you both have things figured out so much more than the rest of us.” Says Amanda.

“That’s not true,” I wave my hand at her. “I’ve told you this so many times before. Trevor and I are just very good at communicating with each other. Well, I thought we were.”

“Uh oh,” Amanda says ominously. “Trouble in paradise too?”

“Not exactly. He thinks I’m making a big deal out of these things that have happened lately, and maybe he’s right. I’m honestly just trying to make sure Ryan is safe.”

“What’s been going on?” She asks as she wipes her hands off into a dish towel.

“I told you about the cat we found outside.”

“Yeah, that was really weird,” her eyes widen.

“Thank you! At least you agree with me. So, when we got back from Chumash I was putting away our clothes and I found a men’s t-shirt that I didn’t recognize. It doesn’t belong to Trevor or Johnny.” I tell Amanda.

“That’s creepy. I’d say it might be Michael’s, but he pretty much lives in polo shirts.” Amanda adds.

“It doesn’t look like a shirt anyone we know would wear. I’m pretty sure of that. Now, I’m not so sure if it’s related in all of this or not, but it’s just something else weird that happened. The worst of it actually happened as I was walking out the door to come here.” I answer seriously.

Amanda’s face goes pale. “I knew something was up with you two. What was it?”

“I wasn’t paying attention as I walked out the door, and I ended up slipping and falling on something. Next thing I know, I’m covered in blood and there’s a dead dog at my feet. It was in more pieces than the cat.” I confide in Amanda.

She puts a hand on her chest and grimaces. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you guys going home. Do you want to stay here?”

“I don’t want to put your family in danger. Trevor is starting to come around and he said if whoever is doing this wants to hurt is, they would’ve. As horrifying as that is, I agree with him. I told him that I’m hesitant to bring Ryan home, but I don’t think they’d be after him.” I rest my elbows on the countertop and place each hand against the side of my head. “I’m honestly so scared, Amanda. I don’t know what to do. Out of all the things Trevor and I have been through, we’ve never been through anything like this. We’ve always been one step ahead, but we’re at a total loss here. We let our guards down and now we’re paying the price.”

“Oh, would you calm down,” she walks around the island to hug me. “You’ll get through this somehow. You and Trevor are like superhuman detectives; nothing has ever held you back before.”

“Thank you, Amanda. I needed to hear that.”

Ryan starts crying. My eyes light up, and I’m off the stool in a split second. I slowly approach the carrier and smile down at him. When he makes eye contact with me, he smiles widely and stops crying. His small arms reach out and he opens and closes his hands, wanting me to pick him up.

Amanda follows me into the living room and watches us. I scoop him up in my arms and snuggle him close. He nestles his head against my shoulder. From the archway in the kitchen, Amanda looks as if she’s going to cry.

The boys happen to come inside at the same time, laughing over god only knows what. Trevor’s eyes settle on me and our son, and I can tell he wants to hold him. I slowly walk over to him as I rock Ryan. Trevor happily looks down at the baby in my arms.

“I know you want to hold him. Here,” I smile as I slowly hand Ryan over to his father.

He takes Ryan and walks into the living room with him. Trevor sits on the couch with him and I can hear him talking quietly to him. I join Michael and Amanda in the kitchen again. They both scramble around the kitchen, trying to finish up the last details for the extravagant meal we’re all about to have.

Amanda climbs onto a chair to get special glasses down from an overhead cabinet. Michael shimmies around the chair to get into the refrigerator. They nearly collide as he makes his way to the other side of the kitchen and Amanda moves the chair back to the dining room. 

“If you guys need any help, I’m just sitting here completely useless,” I remind them.

“You’re the guest. You’re allowed to sit there and be useless,” Michael gives me a sly smirk. “We probably won’t be ready for another twenty minutes anyway. I still have some stuff on the grill.”

“I’ll go check on my boys in the living room then.” I say as I scoot the stool back and away from the island.

Sneakily, I try to watch Trevor from the doorway. He’s still talking quietly and smiling at Ryan. I walk into the room and sit beside Trevor on the off-white sectional. He looks at me and I can tell there’s a new kind of happiness in his eyes. 

“What are you two boys talking about?” I ask jokingly.

“Ryan wants a truck, just like daddy’s,” says Trevor. He holds the baby up in front of him so that they’re at eye level with each other, “but I told him that he’s going to have to wait a couple more years. You don’t even have a license! Don’t be silly, Ryan!” He cradles the baby in both of his arms again.

I giggle, “What about mom? She doesn’t even have a truck like dad’s.”

Trevor looks at me and smiles softly, “That can be arranged.”

Michael appears in the doorway. “So, I’m a big fat liar. I severely miscalculated the cook time and I have now burnt the rest of the hotdogs. It’s going to be a few more minutes.”

“Well, at least you know those three things about yourself,” says Trevor sarcastically.

“Are all the burgers ready?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I had just started the hot dogs. So, the ones that were going to be ready are now charred.” Michael informs us.

“I’m fine with a hamburger, unless you and Amanda want hotdogs. T, you’d be fine with a hotdog too. Right?”

“I’m a man. I’ll take any kind of meat. Wait a minute,” Trevor ponders the wording of what he said.

Michael and I laugh. “I wouldn’t put that past you, bro,” Michael teases.

Franklin walks in through the french doors in the dining room. “Sorry I’m late,” he announces.

“Hey, Frank,” Michael greets him. “We haven’t started without you.”

“Make yourself at home, Franklin,” Amanda calls from the kitchen. “Michael and I are finishing the set-up.”

He gives them a nod and comes into the living room with me and Trevor. “ ‘Sup, T? (First initial of your name)?” 

“Just kicking back. How have things been with business?” Trevor asks.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to y’all ‘bout that,” Franklin begins and I can see Trevor grow tense. “Everything’s cool, for the most part. When I walked in this morning though, all the tires on the cars were flat. I’ve taken care of it, but I just thought I’d let y’all know.”

Trevor sighs. “That’s not too bad.”

“Thank you for telling us, Franklin. Trevor,” I speak up, wanting him to connect the dots.

“You’re not at all worried?” Franklin asks Trevor for clarification.

“Nah, not really. Flat tires are fairly easy to replace, so it won’t be a problem if it happens again,” he looks down at Ryan, trying to push his thoughts away.

“Alright then. I just thought it was a little suspicious for all four tires to be out,” Franklin says.

“I do too, Franklin,” I validate him and then get up from the couch. 

Trevor is driving me insane. It’s obvious to me that he _is_ thinking about all of these odd incidents, but he’s refusing to acknowledge them. It’s like he’s afraid to talk about them because it makes it more real. Well, I’m not going to just let it go.

We have a son to protect now. He can’t just waltz around in denial and expect me to do the same. I will do whatever I have to to get to the bottom of this, with or without Trevor’s help. First, they fucked with the house and now they’re fucking with the business. That’s our source of income! What is Trevor going to do if this maniac decides to burn it down?

“You ok?” Michael asks me.

I stand near the pool, just staring into the clear blue water. “No,” I look at Michael, “I’m not. We might have to bump up the trip to the shooting range.”

“Ok,” Michael says calmly, “just let me know. You’re not gonna, like, murder-suicide your family, are you?” 

“Not today, at least,” I joke stoically.

“Alright, well, let’s get inside and eat. Maybe you’ll feel better with a full stomach. That always helps me.” Michael advises as we walk back inside.


	6. Off on the Wrong Foot

Ryan is fast asleep in his carrier. Trevor helps me bring all of Ryan’s things inside from when he was staying with Michael and Amanda. My entire body feels heavy as I trudge tiredly up the staircase with the carrier. Behind me, Trevor tries to quietly close and lock the front door. It’s very late at night and we don’t want to wake Ryan or Johnny. 

We make our way into Ryan’s room and I carefully try to transfer him to his crib. I tell Trevor to go ahead and get settled in our room while I put our son to bed. Quietly, I put his things away and store the empty bag in the closet near his crib.

It’s been a long time since we’ve stayed out this late at night. That’s something you give up when you become a parent. Neither of us are used to it anymore, and it shows. As I walk into our bedroom, Trevor is sprawled out on the bed again. This time, he’s on his back. I sit on the edge of the bed and kick my pumps off towards the wall.

“Can we talk?” I pose it as a question, but it’s more of a demand. 

“Of course,” Trevor says willingly, trying to relax with his eyes closed.

“We have to figure something out, Trevor. I’m not comfortable here and that’s a problem in your own home.” 

“I agree, but what do you want me to do? There’s only so much I _can_ do with the amount of information we have. I told you that Johnny and I will put up cameras soon.” He tries to pacify me.

“Trevor, you’re not _hearing_ me. Whoever is doing this is clearly smart enough to evade cameras. They’ve managed to place dead animals right outside the house without anyone seeing or hearing them. I’m pretty sure they planted that shirt to tell us that they always know where we are.” 

He gives me a strange look, “You’re placing a lot of power with that stupid shirt. I’ll admit the animals are a problem, but enough with the damn shirt.”

“Do you not realize that your wife and child are here alone a majority of the time? What if this person decides to take this a step further?”

“Again, what do you expect me to do?” He asks annoyed.

“I don’t know, Trevor. I’d suggest moving, but they’d find us. I just don’t want to wait until they do decide to take it a step further. I want your help, but if you can’t listen to me then I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”

“Then go for it,” he sits up quickly, obviously agitated. “You’ve been going on and on about this and I don’t know what to tell you to make you feel better. I’m just as worried, but I can’t constantly think about it or it’s going to drive me crazy.” He gets up off the bed and starts to pace slowly.

“Really? Securing your family’s safety is going to drive you crazy? I can’t believe you.” 

His eyebrows raise. “You can’t believe _me_?”

“You’re so afraid of being angry now that you try to avoid feeling anything other than content. You’re so in love with the idea of everything being picture-perfect that you’ve resorted to total denial!” I snap at him.

He just shakes his head and grumbles, “Watch it,” through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” I laugh. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

Trevor stands across the floor from me, staring with his lips pursed. For the first time, I actually want him to yell. I want him to get angry. I want him to go back to the Trevor that feels unapologetically. I thought he was truly happy and maybe he thought he could be if he faked it long enough. However, he was really just putting up a front to protect himself.

He puts his hand on his hips. “You know that you and Ryan are the most important things to me. It kills me that you think I’d let your safety, or his, come into question on purpose. There’s nothing for me to do though, and you’re constantly reminding me of how much I can’t do.”

“Good. I hope it does kill you because it’s killing me to have Ryan back in the house while this is still unresolved.” I say coldly. I can tell he’s hitting his limit, but he’s still taking it. “What? Come on, Trevor. Yell at me. You can’t, can you?” I shove him in hopes that it’ll spark an explosive reaction within him.

“Is that what you really want?” He stumbles backward from my force. “You _want_ me to yell at you?” He grabs my arms tightly.

“I thought that was pretty straightforward,” I persist. “Go ahead. Do it.”

He quickly releases my arms, causing me to lose my balance and regain it by sitting on the bed. “Fine. You want me to go back to being the angry person I used to be? Well you’re gonna get him, babe.”

“You never were a different person, Trevor! You were in denial this entire time. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve had this insatiable rage inside you. It’s always going to be that way! So just get the fuck used to it already instead of trying to be someone _you_ think I want!”

Trevor sends his fist through the wall, proving what I said. He pulls his arm into his chest and holds it, signaling that he’s physically hurt. He whips around to look at me and there are tears in his eyes. “Why do you always have to be in my fucking head?!” He roars and storms out of the room.

It’s better to let him go and do what he needs to do before I go try to console him. He hasn’t done this in a long time and he needs to be alone with his thoughts. At least we’re beginning to get somewhere and peel back the layers that he’s built up over a year.

Something hits the floor and breaks downstairs. I sigh to myself, knowing that Johnny is probably going to wake up and yell at us to be quiet. I should go make sure he doesn’t completely destroy all the furnishings his wrath hasn’t touched already. As I come down the stairs, he’s pacing quickly and maniacally. He has his head in his hands, and I can hear him angrily mumbling to himself.

The last step creaks as I step onto it and he quickly looks over at me. I look at him like a deer caught in headlights. He sits down in a chair and places his head in his hands, with his elbows resting on his knees. I step down onto the floor and slowly make my way to Trevor in the darkness. I yell out in pain and immediately sit down on the wooden floor where I was standing. My foot stings badly and I strain my eyes in the darkness to find the source of the pain. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Trevor sighs, clearly still annoyed. He flicks on the light, revealing shattered glass all over the floor. I look down at my foot and it glistens with blood and shards of glass. He walks over to me, his boots making crunching sounds as he steps over the glass. Trevor kneels beside me and tries to carefully hold my foot to take a look, but I jerk away with tears forming in my eyes from the pain.

He gives me a stern look. “Let me see,” he commands. Slowly, he reaches for my foot again and inspects the glass stuck in it. He sits back on his heel and looks at me, and softly says, “I haven’t been withholding my anger to pretend to be someone I think you want. I’ve been withholding it because you always end up getting hurt because of it.”

Trevor stands and hooks one arm around my shoulders and the other arm underneath my legs, picking me up in his arms. He carries me to the guest bathroom downstairs and sets me down on the counter. He opens one of the drawers and rifles through it for a pair of tweezers. Then, he sits on the edge of the tub across from the sink with a piece of toilet paper, and begins to pull the glass from my foot. It’s now dripping blood and some of it falls onto the leg of Trevor’s jeans, but he doesn’t care at all.

I wince in pain, but he moves quickly to not cause any more than he has to. The shards he picks out and places on the toilet paper now glisten with a pink tinge. I still find it oddly beautiful, just like the time when I punched a mirror and Michael had to take me to the urgent care to get the shards removed from my hand. Maybe I’ll suggest to Trevor later that we should keep them too.

He turns on the faucet beside me and holds his hand under it for a few seconds to check the temperature. “Put your foot under,” he tells me. “It’s going to burn.” I look at him timidly and he takes my hand to help me turn towards the sink. I stick my foot into the basin and the water is boiling hot. More pained noises escape me. Most of the blood washes away, but the bleeding hasn’t stopped. 

Trevor goes into the cabinet underneath the sink and pulls out a bottle. When he comes back up, he has bandages in one hand and a bottle in the other. I know exactly what it is and I’m not going to like this. I turn the water off and he hovers the bottle over my foot. “This is _really_ going to burn.” I put my hand on his shoulder to brace myself for the pain and try to focus my attention elsewhere. 

A tear rolls down my cheek as he begins to pour the alcohol and my fingers dig into his shoulder. I start to breathe in and out audibly to prevent myself from yelling obscenities at four in the morning. “Trevor,” I say shakily.

“Yes?” He begins to wrap my foot in the bandages. They immediately turn red on the bottom from the blood still flowing out.

“Even though I may get hurt, you always take care of me.”

He picks me up off the counter and helps me to my feet. It hurts to stand, but it’s better than having glass stuck in your foot. I cling to Trevor to shift some of my weight off my foot, and he holds onto me tightly. “You shouldn’t have to get hurt in the first place.”

“I can take it, Trevor, as long as you’re there. It’s never been an issue before, so why is it now?” 

“We have a son,” he chokes up. “I don’t want him to grow up thinking it’s normal to be this angry all the time. I don’t want him to grow up and feel the way I do. I don’t want _him_ to get hurt because of me.”

“Trevor, he’ll know that if we talk to him about it. You can be angry in healthy ways, but it’s not going to do anyone any good if you just pretend you’re not angry at all. If anything, that makes people more resentful that you can’t be open with them.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person that has said, ‘Please, Trevor, I want you to go on a rampage’.” He laughs.

“It’s because I know you and if you let it sit inside too long, it’s either going to end in us yelling at each other more than we already have or someone being killed. Now help me upstairs.”

He takes my arm and wraps it around his neck, allowing me to limp over to the stairs. Next comes an awkward sequence of only taking a step up with my unscathed foot. Trevor is extremely patient with me and is there for every literal step of the way. 

Finally, we make it into our bedroom. Trevor goes to remove my arm from around his neck and let me fall onto the bed, but I grab his hand last minute and he loses his balance. He lands on top of me and tries to flip over on his back beside me, but I clutch onto his arm. He looks me in the eyes.

“You’re foot is hurt,” he thinks he needs to remind me.

“And?” I smirk.

“I’d rather discuss this situation until we reach a conclusion that makes you feel safe,” he says.

My jaw drops. “You’re listening more already.”

“I need to stop internalizing all this bullshit. If not for my own sake, then for Ryan’s. I fell off the bandwagon for a little bit, but you straightened me out like you always do.” He smirks playfully and kisses me.

“I feel like I should meet you halfway now,” I say with an air of guilt. “I’ll admit that there aren’t a lot of options for us. Maybe we should just start with cameras and go from there.” 

“Will that make you feel more comfortable?” 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel comfortable until all of it stops, but considering the events taking place around here they’d sure help.” I smile.

“Then Johnny and I will get on that tomorrow. At this rate, we won’t be getting up until after noon. Let’s get to bed.” He gets up, goes over to his side of the bed, and kicks off his boots.

* * *

I open my eyes and stretch. Trevor isn’t in the bed beside me, which is unusual. However, I can hear the shower running in the bathroom. I’m still in the dress I wore to Michael and Amanda’s house yesterday. I get up and change into a comfortable, slightly oversized t-shirt and leggings. My foot still throbs and stings when I walk on it, even with the extra support the bandages provide.

Trevor emerges from the bathroom. His eyes light up when he sees me. “When did you get up?”

“Just a second ago. What time is it?” I ask him.

“It’s about two o’clock,” he says after consulting his watch. 

My eyebrows raise. “ _Really_? I don’t think I’ve slept in that late since I was a teenager. When did you get up?”

“Only about fifteen minutes before you did. I’m still exhausted and thought a shower would help me wake up. Note to self: it didn’t. Anyway, I was going to catch Johnny as he’s coming home and get the cameras all set up.” He informs me.

“Sounds good. I have to go feed Ryan now; I overslept big time.” I say shamefully.

“Johnny texted me that he already gave Ryan breakfast, but he’s probably ready for lunch.”

“Oh, wow,” I say, pleasantly surprised. “That was really helpful. Ryan is probably beyond ready for lunch and a nap though.”

I leave Trevor to finish getting dressed and poke my head into Ryan’s room. He isn’t in the crib or crawling around the floor, making the motherly instincts inside me shift into panic mode. Although, I tell myself there are many other places I have left to check in the house.

As I make it to the end of the stairs, I notice that all the glass is cleaned up from earlier this morning. It looks like Johnny had a very productive start to his day, not that he doesn’t usually. I make my way into the kitchen and I find Ryan across the way, in the living room, sitting in his walker. He looks over at me and giggles happily.

Trevor joins us downstairs as I transfer Ryan from the walker to his high chair. Both boys interact enthusiastically with each other by making various sounds of excitement. Trevor sits at the table with him while I cut up some fruit. The front door opens, closes, and Johnny’s particular pattern of footsteps echoes down the hall.

“Hey John, I was thinking you could help me put up some cameras around the house today,” says Trevor.

“Sure thing. You want to go get them now before I get too comfortable?” Johnny asks.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

“Hey,” I interject, “do you guys mind waiting until Ryan’s done with lunch? I’d like to be dropped off at Michael and Amanda’s.”

Trevor exhales loudly and then purses his lips. I know now that it’s really bothering him that I don’t feel safe at home alone anymore. It’s going to affect all of our routines from now on. “Yeah, cupcake, we can do that.”

“It won’t be long. He’s almost finished,” I assure them as Ryan slowly chews a small piece of fruit.

* * *

I hug Ryan tightly against my chest and fling a little daybag over my shoulder filled with anything he might need over the next few hours. Trevor gives me a kiss goodbye, and I shut the door to the truck. Johnny climbs over from the bed of the truck and takes my seat. 

“I’ll text you when we’re on our way to come get you. Ok?” Trevor tells me.

“Ok, sounds good.”

“Hey!” He shouts, trying to get more of my attention as I fiddle with Ryan’s bag. I look up at him. “I love you,” he says softly.

“I love you too, Trevor. So does Ryan.” I reply sweetly. “We all love you too, Johnny.”

He smiles and nods awkwardly, “Thanks.”

“I love you more,” Trevor says to Johnny and tries to lean over to kiss him.

“What the fuck, man!” Johnny pushes him off and Trevor laughs like an idiot. “Not cool!”

I shake my head and giggle. “You two better behave.”

“We’ll do our best!” Trevor says.

I shift Ryan up higher on my hip and try to readjust the bag on my shoulder with the other hand. I turn and start to walk towards the house and I can hear the truck take off down the street. Like the invasive friends we are, I let myself in the house. The house is completely silent. Michael’s and Tracey’s cars weren’t in the driveway, but Amanda’s is so I know she’s home at least.

“‘Manda?!” I call out. There’s no answer. I walk into the living room and she’s still nowhere in sight. Ryan looks around the room curiously along with me. I walk towards the kitchen. “Amanda!” 

The doors to the backyard are open. As I step outside just to take in the sight, I hear loud laughter coming from the tennis court. I walk down the steps and past the fountain, and I finally find Amanda. She’s playing tennis with a man I’ve never seen before. The man makes eye contact with me and his smile fades.

Amanda looks over to see what drained him of his previously flirtatious state. Her eyes get wide and she forces a smile. Ryan and I look back and forth between the two of them with confusion. Luckily, Ryan can’t read situations like this yet, but I can unfortunately.

“Hi, (your name). You’re early,” she says sounding inconvenienced. “This is my tennis coach. Kyle, this is a very good friend of mine and Michael’s, (your name).” 

He swaggers over to me, holding his racket like it’s a trophy to be shown off. Kyle offers his hand and I take it hesitantly. “Nice to meet you, (your name).” He smiles at me seductively “Who’s this little fella?” He points to Ryan.

“Ryan,” I say plainly and look at Amanda. 

“What a cutie,” Kyle smiles at Ryan. Even though Ryan is only one, he looks at this guy like he’s a total douchebag. “I guess I better head out now. You did a great job today, Mandy. I can’t wait for next time,” he says with a little too much emotion behind it. He walks up the stairs behind me and I look back at Amanda. 

“What the hell is going on here?” I whisper.

“We were playing tennis,” she laughs nervously. “Look, you _can’t_ tell Michael that Kyle was here.”

I give her the ‘cut the shit’ look. “He was practically fucking you with his eyes! I know it’s between you and Michael, but you kind of owe me now. It’s not fair to make me aware of this dirty little secret and then have to hide it.”

“Ok, ok! I will when the time is right, but just not now. About three years ago I started having an affair with Kyle. Michael caught us at one point and I did stop seeing him for a while. I tried other coaches and no one is as good as him.”

“Are you talking about him coaching you or his prowess in the bedroom?” I ask rhetorically and sarcastically.

“Oh my god,” she groans. “I’m really sorry you had to find out, but _please_ don’t say anything. Michael just hit a roadblock in therapy and he doesn’t need any more stress right now.”

“I won’t tell him, but you better be honest with him. I don’t want him finding out and then somehow finding out I knew too. This has nothing to do with me and I’m not going to ruin my friendship with him over something so stupid.”

“If it makes you feel better, the last time I slept with him was almost a year ago and I told him I couldn’t do it anymore. I felt way too guilty about it. Fixing things with Michael is really important important to me, but it’s so hard when he doesn’t talk to me.” She says.

I a microscopic amount of guilt for putting her on the spot. I’d never be unfaithful to Trevor and I don’t understand why anyone would ever hurt their partner like that, but I know how alone she must feel. “I know what you mean,” I sigh. “Trevor and I just had a fight last night about that. I know that it feels like you’re watching them slip off a ledge and there’s nothing you can do, but you have to try. You can’t just wait it out. Sometimes they need to be reminded that you’re there to help them when they need it.”

“He won’t let me,” she scofs. “I’ve tried and tried, and he just rolls over and tells me not to worry about it. I’m sick of it and I feel so stuck!”

I hug her with my free side. “Michael is a highly sensitive person; most guys are, but they just don’t show it. Michael puts up a wall when he feel unsafe, and it’s up to you to take a sledgehammer to it. I know it isn’t fair for him to be that standoffish to you, but you love him and that’s what comes along with it.”

“This has been going on for years. I don’t know if I can get through to him now.” She says dejectedly.

“You’re probably the most important thing to him. You’ll _always_ be able to reach him, with some work. Maybe you should go with him to his next appointment and hear what’s been going on from his perspective. That’d be the perfect environment to tell him about Kyle.” I suggest.

“We talked about me going with him,” she says with uncertainty. “The last time we did that it just ended up in us yelling at each other in front of the kids.”

“Oddly enough, sometimes that’s a good thing. I had to yell at Trevor to get through to him. Sure, one of my vases and my foot had to take the short end of the stick, but we’re on the same page now.” 

She looks down at my bandaged foot. “Oh my god, what happened?!”

“He threw one of my vases and I accidentally stepped on the glass.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry. He feels _horrible_ about it.”

“Let’s go inside and get you off of your feet then.” She puts a hand on my back and walks up the steps and towards the house with me.

“You know, you and Michael don’t have to be so scared of communicating. Sometimes, you hear things that you might not want to hear, but in the end it’s for the better.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” she says as we walk into the dining room. Amanda gets herself a glass of water. “You and Trevor know everything about each other and you respect each other. Michael and I are a different story. I don’t want to hear about all the whores he’s screwed in his car and he doesn’t want to hear that I so much as looked at another guy.”

I take a seat at the dinner table and place Ryan on my lap. “You’re also responsible for breaking the cycle, Amanda. You’re part of it too. I think you need to give Michael more credit though. Trevor and I can see he’s changed, so why can’t you?”

“Like you said last night,” she sighs, “I think I’m scared. He’s hurt me enough for a lifetime.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s called being in a long-term relationship.”

Amanda sits at the table across from me. “Tell me about it,” she answers rhetorically.

“Besides, you act like you have it the hardest. That’s not fair. You have to remember that in everyone else’s world, they have it rough too. Sure, some people have it worse than others, but everyone’s definition of ‘bad’ is different.” We sit in silence as she thinks it over. “ Michael once told me that I’m too hard on Trevor,” I add.

She looks at me with surprise. “Michael said that to you?”

I nod. “He was right too, and it took him saying that to remember to see Trevor’s point of view with everything. It’s helped resolve a lot of fights a lot quicker. So what I’m trying to say is, maybe take a break from your own frustrations and help Michael with his. He’ll return the favor.”

“I guess anything’s worth a shot at this point. There’s only going up from here,” she says dramatically.

“That sort of thinking is a great start,” I giggle.


	7. A Shot in the Dark

“Yes, I promise everything is fine. I just think your place is more convenient for this weekend...I’ll see you then...Love you too...Bye.” 

“Was that your dad?” Trevor asks as he grabs me around the waist from behind.

“Yeah, I’m going to take Ryan with me to lunch this weekend with dad. I think it’d be safer.”

The doorbell rings, which is an odd and rare occurrence. I look at Trevor nervously and he shrugs. Neither of us had gotten a text or call from anyone, so we aren’t expecting company. Trevor walks into the hallway and I cling to his arm, not wanting him to answer the door. 

He gives me a confident, reassuring look. I stay put further down the hall and watch him approach the door. There’s a shadow of a man on the tile just outside the windows next to the front door. Trevor looks through the peephole, looks back at me, smiles, and yanks the door open.

Curiously, I watch Trevor speak quickly with whoever is at the door. He looks back at me again and then steps aside. “Floyd?!” I exclaim excitedly. Dropping the dish towel in my hands, I take off running down the hall. I throw my arms around Floyd and he smiles warmly. “What are you doing here?! I tried calling you a few times a couple weeks ago and I couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he scratches his head. “Now that Trevor’s got all his businesses squared up financially, I’ve had a little more time to be outside the office.” He smirks, hinting at something.

“Oh yeah?” I reply with anticipation.

“Yeah, and I was hopin’ that you and Trevor would join me for dinner at the end of the week.”

I look back at Trevor and then turn back to Floyd. “We’d _love_ to!”

“I’ll see y’all then. I got a surprise for you both.”

“You don’t want to come in and hang out for a little while?” I gesture behind me.

“Nah, I gotta get back to the club. Wade gets kinda antsy without me at the club to help him.” Says Floyd.

“Alright, well it’s good to see you. We’ll see you soon.”

We all give each other a wave goodbye. Trevor and I watch as Floyd drives off in the new car he bought after Trevor put some of the money from the UD job into upgrades for the Vanilla Unicorn. It brought in an overwhelming amount of business, and consequentially gave both Floyd and Wade a nice, disposable income. 

“What do you think the surprise is?” I ask Trevor.

“There’s _no_ telling. He’s probably gonna come out to us or something.” Trevor jokes.

“If that’s the case then that’s perfectly ok. God, I’m going to be thinking about it until we have dinner with him!” I walk back in the house and Trevor shuts the door behind me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I take a quick look at the screen. “I have to go find my boots. Are you sure you’re going to be ok here watching Ryan?”

“Yes! How many times are you going to ask me? He’s my kid; I’m not going to do anything dangerous.”

“Ok, but if you need anything or if anything happens you call me,” I say sternly. 

“You know I will,” Trevor promises.

I run up the stairs, skipping a step each time. My shoes are all stacked in a neat row on top of the waist-height cabinets in the closet. When I step inside the closet, that gray t-shirt is perfectly centered in the middle of the floor. I step around it, grab my chestnut boots and a pair of socks. Beyond tired from all the worrying I’ve done, I kick the t-shirt to the back of the closet. 

_Don’t give it another thought_ , I tell myself. I plop down on the edge of the bed and put my shoes and socks on. Today is my day to get out of the house and focus on something else. This is supposed to be a worry-free day, and I refuse to linger on any source of anxiety. Everyone knows how much I need today.

As I come back down the stairs, my phone vibrates again. Michael texted me that he’s outside. “Alright, Trev, I’m leaving!” I shout from the main foyer. He appears in the doorway to the main living room with Ryan on his hip. 

“Ok, cupcake. We’ll be right here when you get back, and I promise to call you if I need to.” He smiles and kisses me on the cheek.

“I trust you,” I say honestly, but also nervously.

The boys watch me as I walk down the hall and open the front door. I give them one last look as I walk outside. The sound of the door shutting helps me let go of some of my anxiety. It symbolizes that I’m shutting the door on them and leaving them here for the day.

Excitedly, I turn and see Michael’s car. Through the slightly tinted window, he leans over and pops the passenger side door open for me. I can tell he’s just as eager as I am for today as I get inside the car.

“You ready?” He asks enthusiastically.

“I was born ready.”

* * *

“Alright, this here is a rifle. Hold it like so,” the instructor says. I snatch it out of his hands before he can raise it to his shoulder, and I assume the proper form. The instructor raises his eyebrows at me. I aim towards the target and the instructor reaches an arm around me to adjust my posture.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve done this before,” I say forcefully.

Michael’s laughter can be heard in the next stall over. “She’s handled bigger guns than that rifle, bro. She knows what to do.”

“Alright, alright,” the instructor says defensively. “I’m just tryin’ to be helpful. As a safety precaution, I have to sit here and watch ya though.”

“That’s fine. Just stay out of my way.” I focus back on the target and begin to unload the cartridges into it. 

The instructor moves our targets forward for us to examine. “Damn! You’re a good shot!” He says when he looks over my target. 

“Not too bad,” I reply. “I’ve done better though. I haven’t been to a shooting range in too long. What about you, Michael? How’d you do?”

He holds up the paper to show me. “Same as you, really: I didn’t do too bad, but I’ve done better.”

I laugh, “If you did any better than that then you would have totally obliterated the bullseye! Let’s try the SMGs next.”

Reluctantly, the instructor takes the rifles from us and comes back with two SMGs. He hands one to Michael and one to me. I take it gladly. They were always one of my favorites to handle. The instructor has a nervous look on his face as he sees how happy just the presence of the guns makes me. 

Michael starts to shoot the targets first, and I’m not far behind him. He was right when he said this would be good medicine for the way I’ve been feeling. It’s given me a bump of confidence and the way the guns feel in my hand as they fire off a round feels so comfortably familiar. I can’t remember the last time I had my hand wrapped arounda gun, but just a few short years ago there wasn’t a week I went by without one. 

After Michael and I blow through all of our ammunition, the instructor moves the targets forward once again. Of course Michael’s looks just about perfect. Mine looks pretty close to my last one. 

“Well, that’s just about every gun we have,” the instructor informs us.

I look at Michael. “We’ve been here for a few hours, so I guess we could call it a day. Do you want to grab some food before we head home?” 

“Sounds great. I’m starved.” He hands the SMG to the instructor and walks out of the shooting range. 

I hand the SMG to the instructor too and remove the ear and eye protection. He gives me a look. Usually, they have a rule about keeping all protection on while inside the range. Michael and I are far too comfortable around guns to be bothered with the frivolous rules here. If we get hurt, we know it’s on us. 

“Hey, so is that your husband?” He asks.

“Michael? No, we’re just really good friends. Why?”

“This might be out of left field, but would you maybe want to go to out with me sometime?” The instructor asks.

I hold up my left hand to show him my ring. “This isn’t for decoration.”

He nods dejectedly. “Lucky guy.”

“He knows,” I say as I follow Michael into the main room of Ammu-Nation. We walk outside together and get in his car. “The instructor just asked me out,” I laugh slightly.

“Really?” Michael smiles. “Don’t tell Trevor. You know he’d be down here in a split second.”

“I know, and I won’t. I’ll definitely take the compliment though, especially after having a baby.” 

“Oh, come on. You don’t look any different.” Michael tries to assure me as we leave the parking lot.

“That’s what you all tell me,” I sigh. 

“I don’t get you women and complaining about your bodies. You all look fine. If you’re not happy with yours, I’ll gladly trade you,” he says sarcastically as he pats his stomach. “How about we grab something at that deli down the street from my house?”

“That sounds really good. I guess that’ll be dinner for tonight.” 

Michael drives a few short minutes down the road and pulls into the small parking lot. The sandwich shop looks fairly busy, but we go in anyway. We stand in line for a few more minutes and then place our orders. Michael gets a Cuban and I decide on a Reuben sandwich. They’re made surprisingly quick and Michael and I grab a seat by the window.

“So, do you feel better after a trip to the gun range?” Michael asks me as he swallows his first bite of his sandwich.

“Oh yeah! It was definitely needed. I’d like to go back more frequently. I’m surprised I’m still a decent shot after not firing a gun for a few years.” 

He giggles. “It’s kinda like riding a bike I guess,” he trails off. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

“Ok,” I say nervously. Everytime someone says that, my stomach ties in knots.

“Amanda told me about a week ago that she wanted to go with me to my next therapy appointment. Tomorrow is the next appointment and I’m actually nervous to go to therapy for once.”

“So what did you want to ask me?”

“Well, I know you hung out with her about a week ago and I was just wondering if she mentioned anything to you then?” He asks curiously.

I place my sandwich on the paper it came wrapped in and wipe the crumbs off from my hands on my shorts. I swallow hard and it feels like it lodges in my throat. “We talked about a lot of things when I came over, like we always do. Of course we talked about our husbands, but whatever this is about is between the two of you.”

“So you do know?”

I roll my eyes. “I have an idea of what it might be about, but I’d rather it be her to talk to you about it.”

“Just please tell me if she’s going to serve me papers. That’s all I’m really worried about.” He pleads.

I relax some. “I can promise you that she doesn’t want a divorce.”

He takes a breath of relief and shakes his head. “Thank god. I’ve been thinking about that all week. I wouldn’t know what to do without her.”

“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told her: tell her that, not me.”

Michael looks up at me with a blank expression. “I know,” he says.

* * *

“Trevor!” I call as I walk in the door. My hands are full with sandwiches in a bag for him and Johnny and my targets from the shooting range. I kick the door closed and call out again. “Hello?! Trev! Johnny?!”

“In here, hon!” I hear Trevor call from down the hall. I walk into the main area, and set the targets by the back door and the sandwiches on the island in the kitchen. The tops of Johnny’s and Trevor’s heads poke out from the top of the couch.. 

I approach the living room and Johnny, Trevor, and Ryan are all sitting in the middle of the floor. Ryan clumsily grabs a toy that I’ve never seen before. It seems like an ordinary toy of a horse. That is, until Ryan grabs its tail. Johnny and Trevor laugh hysterically as brown pellets fall out of the bottom of the horse.

I shake my head and immediately place my hand over my face. “I don’t remember getting that for him.”

“We found it at the store today. I couldn’t _not_ get it!” Trevor tries to contain his laughter. 

“I see. Did we buy it for Ryan to play with or for the grown men?” I jeer. 

“You can’t tell me that it isn’t funny,” Trevor persists. He grabs the brown plastic pellets and holds them up for me to see. “If you don’t find it funny, then I call horseshit.” Trevor and Johnny start dying laughing and I can’t help but laugh too. 

“It is kind of funny, but be careful with the pellets. Those are a choking hazard for Ryan. Oh, and when you and Johnny are done playing, there are sandwiches for you both on the island.” I inform them.

I go to walk back into the foyer, but Trevor quickly gets up off the floor and leaves Johnny to entertain Ryan for a bit. He follows me into the kitchen. “How was your day?” He asks genuinely.

“It was pretty good. You want to see how I did?” I ask.

“Of course!” I grab the target from next to the back door and hand them awkwardly to Trevor. He lays them out on the island, inspecting the first one. Then, he flips through the next few and studies them as well. “Wow! You did really good!I don’t think I’d do nearly this well after so many months of no practice.”

“I think you’d be surprised. I went in with the same thought and I surprised myself.”

“We should hang them outside. Then everyone would know not to fuck with us,” Trevor smiles, but mine fades. “Hey, why the long face?” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer, kissing the top of my head. “You did great today. You should be proud.”

“I know and I am. Every time I’m here though I go straight back to worrying. I don’t want to do that every time I want to relax at home.” I tell him quietly.

He takes my hand. “I know. The cameras are up and running. I’ve reviewed some of the footage and I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary. I think everything is ok for now. Maybe it was just some sick person playing a quick little joke on us.”

“Trevor,” I give him a look, “even if that’s the case I don’t want to be the person they pick for a joke like that. They’re obviously not right in the head. It’s beyond sick to do that to poor animals, especially just for a joke.” I pause and Trevor reaches in the bag on the island in front of us for a sandwich. As he unwraps it, I tell him, “The shirt was in different spot right before I left and I know none of us were upstairs.”

Trevor exhales through his nose as he chews a bite of the sandwich with annoyance. “Where was it?”

“It was in the middle of the floor in the closet. I know it sounds stupid. Just talking about a shirt in the middle of a floor freaking me out makes me feel stupid.” I shake my head.

“It’s not stupid if it bothers you. Do you want me to just throw it out?” He says with his mouth full.

“No, I want to do it. You finish eating. I’m going to give Ryan a bath and then put him to bed. You fed him, right?”

“Yeah, right before you got home.”

Johnny is still watching Ryan in the living room. “Go eat, Johnny. You’re off babysitter duty,” I tell him as I pick up my son.

He picks up the toy horse and the brown pellets off the floor and places them on an end table next to the couch. I carry Ryan upstairs and into one of the bathrooms shared by the upstairs bedrooms. While Johnny and Trevor eat, I quickly bathe Ryan.

Luckily, Ryan thoroughly enjoys bathtime. It’s just another thing that makes me so grateful that he’s mine. The minute he hears the faucet turn on, he _wants_ to be in the bath. He toddles over to the tub and tries to grab the water. When I pick him up and put him in the warm, bubbly water he doesn’t even fuss slightly.

However, when bathtime is over he does fuss a little bit. This is probably largely attributed to being cold. Once I wrap him in a towel and dress him, he seems to calm down. I hold him in the armchair in the corner of his room and read him a storybook until I notice him yawn. Then, I place him inside his crib and he seems to drift off pretty quickly.

When I enter the master bedroom, Trevor is already sitting on the bed. He looks up at me and gives me a faint smile. I sit at the foot of the bed and we just kind of look at each other for a few silent seconds.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he states.

That puts a big smile on my face. “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself.”

“Get over here.”

I crawl across the bed to him and sit between his legs with my back facing him. His arms embrace me and he rests his head on my shoulder. Like this, I actually feel safe. Then, the moment is ruined by a loud sound downstairs. Both of us jump and look towards the door. My hand is gripping Trevor’s arm and nearly leaving marks due to fear. 

He slowly gets out of bed and looks underneath it. When he stand back up, he’s holding an aluminum baseball bat. “You stay here,” he tells me quietly.

“Have you always kept a bat underneath the bed?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.

He holds his finger up to his lips to tell me to be quiet. He shuts the lights off in the bedroom and it sends a chill down my spine. Our room is pitch black with the curtains drawn shut. My eyes are still adjusting when I hear Trevor, at least I hope it’s Trevor, opening the door.

In my mind, staying put and hearing something happening is a lot worse than witnessing it. So, I slowly get up from the bed and tiptoe towards the door. Trevor is at the top of the stairs and Johnny is across the way from him.

“John,” Trevor whispers, “would you watch her?” He points over at me. 

“Yeah,” he whispers back.

Johnny quietly walks over to me and grabs my wrist as Trevor descends the stairs. He guides me into Ryan’s room and shuts the door. Then, he walks over to the window and takes a peek outside. I watch him glance around the property, but luckily it seems like he doesn’t see anything. 

He motions me over to him. I sneak a glance out the window and I don’t see anything either. Johnny places his hands on my shoulders and forces me to sit underneath the window with him. I’m scared out of my mind.

“Johnny?” I whisper very quietly as to not wake the baby. I’m surprised the noise didn’t wake him up, but I’m glad it didn’t. If someone is around the house, a baby crying would sure do wonders for our cover.

“Yes?” 

“What do you think is going on?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but it’s a good sign we haven’t heard anything else.” He tries to comfort me, but it doesn’t really work. I push myself closer to Johnny and hook my arm around his. He looks over at me. “It’s going to be fine. Trevor can handle it whatever it is.”

“I know that. It’s just,” I pause, “I have a really active imagination, so I’m making up all these scenarios in my head.”

“It’s a good thing you know it’s your imagination though.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it any less real in my head. It’s kind of like a slideshow of death up here,” I tap the side of my head with a finger.

“That’d be a good metal band name: Slideshow of Death,” Johnny repeats.

“Johnny.” Even though we’re whispering, he can sense the tone in my voice that’s telling him I’m not in the mood for jokes. “Trevor’s been gone a long time,” I add.

“I’m with ya on that one. I’ll tell you what, let’s go downstairs but you have to promise to stay behind me at all times. Ok?” 

“Ok,” I agree hesitantly.

Johnny stands up and then offers his hand to help me up. We slowly walk over to the door and Johnny quietly opens the door. He locks it from the inside before we leave and shuts the door, locking everyone out to protect Ryan. Next, he guides me back to his room and retrieves his handgun from a box in his closet. 

We both go back into the hall and walk over to the stairs. I look down into the abyss of the staircase and I swallow hard as we begin to walk down it. I can’t even hear Trevor walking around. As we reach the bottom of the stairs, I notice that the kitchen light is still on. I’m thankful for some light, but somehow it seems menacing.

He heads straight for the kitchen and I’m right behind him, like he told me. Johnny stops right before the doorway and peers around the corner to make sure no one is there. When he ok’s it, we quietly enter the kitchen. We notice movement to our left in the living room. I clutch the back of Johnny’s shirt in my fist. He glances back at me like I’m crazy, but he softens up when he sees how scared I am.

Slowly, he guides us over to the living room. Trevor is standing in the middle of the living room, looking down at the floor with a strange expression on his face. We turn the corner of the counter and look to the floor to see what has his attention. My eyes grow wide with horror.

“Oh my god,” I blurt out. Suddenly, I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Trevor’s head whips over to look at us. He rushes us and gently shoves Johnny back. “Get her out of here, Johnny. Now! Get her upstairs!”

“Is there anyone in the house or outside?” He asks quickly.

“No. I’ve looked everywhere. We’re fine. Just get her upstairs, Johnny!”

Johnny turns without skipping a beat and locks his fingers around my wrist again. He’s now dragging me back upstairs. He tucks his gun into his pocket as a makeshift holster and takes me into his room. I weakly fall onto the bed and try to focus on not throwing up.  
He sits down beside me and watches me, not really sure how to comfort me. To be honest, I don’t think I can be comforted. I just want Trevor to be up here with us and everyone to be quiet while I try to gather my thoughts. 

This is it. This is the beginning of _taking it a step further_. We’re no longer safe in our own house. Something new is happening almost every other day and they’re getting closer and closer. I hear Trevor running up the stairs and he knocks on the door.

Johnny gets up to answer it. They exchange a few hushed words and then Trevor comes in. He sees me curled up on Johnny’s bed and instantly knows I was right this entire time. This sparks the need for a conversation that goes beyond putting up cameras.

“(Your name), can you get up and come to our room with me?” He asks sweetly. I don’t move a muscle. “I need to talk with you alone.”


	8. Message

Slowly, I sit up and my chest starts to hurt. I convince myself that I’m going to die. Trevor helps me up and over to our room and I can hear Johnny down the hall behind us, unlocking the door to Ryan’s room. I walk all the way to our bed and collapse on top of it. Trevor closes the door and flicks the light on, then replaces the bat back underneath the bed.

“I think that we all should leave the house for a while, until we can get to the bottom of this.” Says Trevor.

“Where would we go? We have lunch with my dad and dinner with Floyd this weekend,” I say quietly.

“We can call them and cancel, but I’m not waiting to decide to leave. I want us all out of this house by tomorrow night.”

“I’m not cancelling anything,” I tell Trevor tiredly. “I want to see my dad and we already don’t see Floyd all that much, and he seemed really excited to share something with us. I don’t want to worry anyone either.”

Trevor sighs. “How about this: we stay with your dad this weekend, that way we can make it to lunch with him and dinner with Floyd? Then, we should go ahead and lay low at the beach house.”

“They knew when we were there the last time. The shirt, remember?”

“Fuck!” He grumbles as he rubs his face. “We’re running out of options here.”

“They’ll know wherever we go, Trevor,” I sit up and say angrily. “They said so on your goddamn living room floor in fucking blood! The time to act was weeks ago when we found the cat! Oh wait, I remember. You didn’t believe me!”

“Why do you blame me for all of this every chance you get?!” He yells, growing more annoyed by the second.

“You definitely have something to do with it! Your name is plastered across the wall, **in fucking blood** may I remind you!”

“Whoop-de-fucking-doo! Do you know how easy it is to find the name of residents?! It could be anyone doing this for any reason!”

“How are you _still_ missing the big picture?! Do you need to go back downstairs and take another look?! Trevor, we can’t deal with this on our own. I think we need to call the police.”

“Are you crazy?! The minute they ask us if we know anyone that would have a reason to do this, we’d have to give them a quick summary of our entire lives! We’ve pissed off _a lot_ of people, including the LSPD. We can’t go to the police.” Trevor tries to reason with me.

“We have a _child_ , Trevor! I couldn’t give a fuck if something happens to me, but I would never be able to forgive myself if something happens to Ryan.”

Trevor’s jaw clenches. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he growls through gritted teeth. “You think _you’d_ never forgive yourself if something happens to Ryan,” he scofs, “well I’d become nothing but a meaningless shell of a human if something happened to either one of you. Even I value myself for the sake of you and him, so don’t be so selfish.”

He’s right. I wish he wasn’t, but he is. Trevor has made many adjustments for the sake of me and our son. This includes the past year that he spent pushing his anger to the side. Maybe I shouldn’t be so careless in my own life because it directly affects everyone around me when things happen to me. I hate it when Trevor has a point.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter confusedly. My head rests in my hands. “I feel like I’m going insane. This doesn’t even feel real anymore. I specifically went to the shooting range with Michael because I’ve been feeling disconnected, only to have this happen when I come home and send me right back to that headspace. It feels like I’m somewhere else watching the playback of a dystopian alternate reality of my life.”

“I know this has been a lot to deal with,” he places his hand on my back, “but I promise you that I _will_ figure this out. No matter what it takes.”

* * *

Within a few seconds, the water flowing out of the kitchen sink is ice-cold. I take the bucket with a little detergent in it and fill it up with water. Bubbles start forming immediately and they rise up to the top of the bucket. I pick up the bucket and an oversized sponge, and walk into the living room.

Trevor already told me not to do this. He told me that he or Johnny could do it, but I know that they’d keep putting it off. Plus, I told Trevor that I don’t want anymore special treatment. I’ve been through too much in my life for him to try to hide everything that happens around the house from me. It pissed me off that he told Johnny to take me upstairs like I was a little girl that is unlearned in the harsh ways of the world, but I know he had good intentions.

I plunge the sponge into the bucket. The cold water makes my hand sting. I wring the sponge out a little and begin to scrub the blood off the walls. Starting with the rust colored “T” in “Trevor Philips” that’s written across the entire wall. Luckily, it comes off pretty easily. The same can’t be said for my ruined white carpet. That’ll have to have multiple treatments with the rug-shampooer. 

Trevor enters the living room. He’s immediately displeased to see me cleaning up the mess that was made last night. “I told you that I’d get to it,” he says.

“You’ve been busy with changing the locks all morning. I’m doing this for me anyway, Trevor. It helps me stay grounded.” I say as I stretch to reach where the two lines in the “T” become perpendicular. 

He puts his hands on his hips. “I’m still not sure how they managed to get in through the front door without forcing it open. We’ve never left a spare key outside.”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” I reply blankly.

“Are you ok?” 

I stop what I’m doing and turn to look at him. My hair is in a loose bun and going in every direction, I have huge purple bags under my eyes, and my clothes are disheveled. “Do I look like I’m ok?”

“No, that’s why I asked. You also don’t sound ok.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m anxious and extremely tired. I barely slept last night. I’m so tired of all of this. I don’t mind running because we’ve run our entire lives, but I at least want to know what I’m running from. Whoever is doing this is a fucking coward.” I throw the sponge into the bucket and water spills out onto the floor. 

Trevor watches the water spill out of the bucket and then looks back up at me. “Unfortunately, that’s a luxury we don’t have. I’m going to give your dad a call and tell him that we’re coming tonight. You should really let me clean the walls and you should go take a hot bath or something.”

“I would if I thought you’d actually do it,” I reply with an attitude. “You can’t let this sit any longer than it has.”

“Honey, I promise I will do it. I’m going to call your dad first though.” I can hear him starting to get annoyed with how pushy I’m being. “Now go on upstairs. Go on, you heard me! Get!” He says playfully and gives me a spank.

“Ok, but you _have_ to clean the walls. I’m not kidding, Trevor. This isn’t like forgetting to put the dishes away and someone else eventually getting to it. It’ll really stain the wall if you don’t clean it.”

“Would you relax? I have this much under control. I can clean the damn wall.” He assures me.

With that, I leave the living room and go upstairs to the our bathroom. The giant tub slowly fills up with hot water as I strip off all my messy, stained clothing. I step into the hot water and add a little bubble-bath to the water. Once it all dissolves, I sit down slowly in the sea of bubbles.

Nothing has felt this good for a solid two weeks. Every muscle in my body is forced into relaxation from the warm water. The bathroom is towards the back of the house, giving me some much needed quiet. Trevor is a _genius_. I push my feet down on the other end of the tub to create the perfect position for my back and close my eyes.

_Brad is sitting next to me on the dingy old couch at the slaughterhouse base in North Yankton. We’re alone in the main room, with Channel X spilling out from a radio somewhere in the room. He just sits there, tapping his foot, and nodding his head lightly to the beat._

_“I don’t blame you,” he says. “For any of it.”_

_My eyebrows knit together and I look at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”_

_He looks at me and there’s a bullet hole in the center of his head. A single drop of blood trickles down his forehead and between his eyes. More patches of blood appear through the thick winter jacket he’s wearing and drenches his clothing._

I startle and wake myself up. So this is how it’s going to be from now on: I won’t be able to sleep and even when I do, my dreams are going to be completely fucked. Down the hall, I can hear Ryan start to cry. Luckily, it’s greatly muffled by all the shut doors between us. I place my hand on my head and I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes.

I’m extremely stressed out and sleep deprived. There’s nothing I can do to fix either one of those things, and I know that. A soft knock comes on the door and I watch the knob turn. Trevor comes in and immediately looks concerned when he sees me aggressively wipe my eyes. I’m trying to hide the tears, but there’s no hiding my red, glassy eyes.

“What’s going on? I thought this would help you relax.” He says as he sits on the edge of the tub.

“A weekend away here and there is not enough. I wish I could go somewhere for a month straight. I’m so tired, but every time I close my eyes it prompts a traumatic memory or a fucked up dream!”

“Ok, ok,” he hugs me even though I’m all wet. “You need to find a way to calm down. You’re carrying more stress than Johnny, Ryan, and I combined.”

“Please,” I roll my eyes. “Ryan doesn’t know what the fuck is going on and I’m overwhelmingly jealous of that. Speaking of Ryan, he was crying just a second ago. Did you check on him?”

“Yeah, Johnny’s tending to him right now. Don’t worry,” he smiles. “You need to focus on yourself right now.”

“It’s not going to happen, Trev,” I say as I get out of the bath. “I’ve got entirely too much on my mind.” I grab the towel off of the counter and wrap myself in it. Trevor watches me as I lean against the counter.

He stands and slowly approaches me. Before I know it, he’s standing right in front of me and his face is but an inch from mine. His fingers intentionally graze my arm and then slides down it until his hand finds mine. “Let me help you clear it then,” he whispers.

I stick a finger in his chest and give him a stern look. His hand travels up my inner thigh. “Did you scrub the wal- oh sweet jesus!”

He smirks. “What was that?”

“The wall, It’s going to st-” he kisses me to shut me up.

His other arm wraps around my lower back, pulling me into him. My hands wrap around his biceps and I can feel my knees wanting to give out as his hand slides up the towel. We part to catch our breaths. Trevor goes to help me up onto the counter.

“Wait!” I exclaim excitedly. 

“What is it?” 

I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. Trevor likes the thrill of desecrating other places other than the bedroom, but we’re not teenagers that have to keep our indiscretions confined to the back of a car or a locked bathroom in the back of the house. 

He looks at me confusedly and I put my hand to his chest, gently pushing him to sit on the bed. As I start to move to straddle him, his hands grab my hips and expedite the process. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. My hand slides down and I make eye contact with him while I unbutton his jeans.

“Best idea you’ve had in a while,” I whisper into his ear. He laughs quietly.

* * *

Only when I open my eyes do I realize that I actually fell asleep. By the way the light creeps in from the curtained window, I’d say I was out for at least an hour or two. Trevor’s arm is draped across my bare waist, and I carefully move it so that I can get up out of bed. 

I dress myself and creep out of the bedroom into the quiet hallway. However, I hear faint noises coming from Ryan’s room. When I make it to the doorway, I peek inside and see Johnny. He’s holding Ryan, rocking him and speaking to him.

“...and I hope this all blows over. Your mom and dad are doing their very best, all for you. I hope you know how much they love you, and Uncle Johnny loves you too.” He places Ryan in his crib. “Now it’s time for a late afternoon nap. Dream of riding motorcycles through the desert.” He whispers enthusiastically, “I’ll teach you how to ride one when you’re older, champ.”

Johnny goes to turn towards me to leave the room, so I quickly and quietly duck into the hall closet. I don’t want to embarass him by letting him know I overheard him talking to Ryan. Johnny is much like Trevor in the sense that he didn’t think he’d be very good with kids. The way he interacts with Ryan on a day-to-day basis proves otherwise, but I’ve never heard him talk like that to my son and it absolutely warms a mother’s heart.

He closes the door to his room and I wander downstairs. Much to my surprise, Trevor cleaned more of the wall than I suspected. The bucket still sits near the wall, so I continue to clean it myself. We’re running out of time to clean up the mess as it is. Whenever the boys get up, Trevor is going to want to go straight to my dad’s.

The wall cleans up much better than I originally thought. A coat or two of fresh paint will make it as though a crazy person didn’t break in somehow and write my husband’s name across the wall in blood. _Totally normal thought to have._ I wash my hands in the kitchen sink to rid myself of the remnants of the living room disaster.

Then, I grab a quick snack. For all I know, this could be the last thing I eat in this house for a while. That saddens me to think we might not be here again for a while, even though I’m relieved to be out of harm’s way. This is the first _nice_ house Trevor and I bought together and I’ve grown really attached to it. We lived here when we got married. We found out I was pregnant with Ryan in this house. This is the house we brought Ryan home from the hospital in.

“Hey, I was wondering where you went.” I quickly turn around and see Trevor standing in the doorway, rubbing his eye.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry, crazy cakes. Where’s Johnny?” He asks groggily.

“Upstairs. Ryan is upstairs too, napping. I think all of us are physically exhausted from being freaked out so frequently.” 

“That could be,” he hugs me warmly. “Did you at least get some sleep after our little escapade?” 

“Yes, so thank you,” I nestle my head against his chest.

“It was no problem, _believe me_ ,” he giggles. “We should start heading to your dad’s soon. I’ll get Johnny if you get Ryan up.”

“Deal.”

We both go upstairs and disappear into different rooms. Ryan is already standing up in his crib, waiting for me to pick him up. Before I do so, I grab his bag out of his closet and pack the essentials. Then, I lift him out of the crib. All the adults are already packed and ready to go, so the three of us trudge downstairs and climb in the truck immediately.

Trevor leaves a few lights on in the house and has them set on timers in hopes of deterring further break-ins. I watch as he locks up the house. I shiver, and I don’t know if it’s because of the temperature drop as the sun sets in Los Santos or if it’s due to the ominous feeling that looms over us. Either way, I’m reasonably unsettled.

It only takes about ten minutes to drive to my dad’s. He lives in a small house in a nice subdivision right outside the city. The floorplan is laid out in a way that reminds me of the trailer Trevor grew up in. It’s obviously much nicer, but it still has the ability to bring forward those memories. 

My dad hears us pull up and is soon waiting for us at the front door. Johnny and Trevor grabs all the bags and dad ushers us inside. My father greets me with a hug and Ryan gets a pinch on the cheek. Trevor and Johnny get hugs too when they put down the bags.

“I’m glad to have you all here. This is going to be exciting!” Dad says enthusiastically. Luckily, he doesn’t pick up on the rest of us having a somber undertone. “I’ll show you all to your rooms so you can settle in, and then we can eat if any of you are hungry. I just whipped up a chicken pot pie.”

“I haven’t had one of those in _years_ ,” Johnny says. “My grandmother raised me and she made them all the time.”

“My mom made one once,” Trevor adds, it wasn’t very good.” We all look at him for making the moment more awkward. Dad is beginning to pick up on our ill feelings.

“Well, let’s all get settled in. I promise this one will be good, Trevor. It’s my wife’s recipe. I know you love (your name’s) cooking, and you’ve probably had it before it she’s made it.” All of us follow my dad down a narrow hall, passed the kitchen. “Down here is the my room, if any of you should need anything during the night,” he points to the room at the end of the hallway. We stop at the doorway across from the master bedroom. “I’ll put you and Trevor in here,” he says to me. “Johnny, you’ll be in the room next to them and Ryan can have his own room. I’ll leave all of you to it.” He smiles and then wanders off down the hall.

We all know we aren’t going to be here long, so we don’t bother putting our clothes in the closet or dresser. Instead, I just go ahead and put Ryan to sleep for the night in his room down the hall. I come back to the room I’m sharing with Trevor and sit down on the bed beside him. We sit, silently and dejectedly, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to elapse before we head into the kitchen to eat dinner with my father.

None of us are comfortable, and the realization that that’s how it’s going to be for a while is maddening. I can tell that Trevor must feel like being here is admitting defeat, but it’s quite the opposite. This is a step forward. 

“What’s the plan, now that we’re here?” I ask Trevor to clarify.

“We’ll stay here a few days, then I think we should split with Johnny. He should go stay at the club with Floyd and Wade. You and I are going to go to Chumash, and then we’ll see how things go from there. I also think that maybe Ryan should stay with Michael and Amanda.”

I begin to feel sad at the thought of having to be apart from Ryan for a while. “I’ll try to relay that to Johnny when I get the chance. We should go meet my dad for dinner now,” I say reluctantly. Trevor follows me back out to the main part of the house and we sit with my dad at the dinner table. Johnny joins us shortly.

“How big of a piece does everyone want?” Dad asks as he hovers a knife over the pot pie.

“A fairly big one. I skipped lunch,” Trevor replies.

“I second that,” Johnny adds.

“I think I’m going to pass. I’m not very hungry,” which is the truth. I’m too anxious to be hungry.

“You feeling ok? You do look a little pale,” says dad.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“Don’t let me keep you up. You can go lay down if you want, sweetheart.” 

“I’m alright, dad. I’ll wait for everyone else to eat.”

“Well, I want to make sure you’ll be ok for lunch tomorrow. Are we still on for that?”

“Yes, and I promise I’ll be ok. It’s just been a long week. That’s why we’re here: we just needed a tiny little vacation. We’re all just a little burnt out.” 

“I wondered,” dad states. “You three seem down in the dumps. Just remember that tomorrow is a new day and you will do nothing but relax while you’re here.” He smiles

“I can live with that,” Trevor says.

* * *

I just about pass out as soon as I hit the bed. Dinner was supposed to last for about an hour while Trevor, Johnny, and my dad finished eating. It turned into a few hours once Trevor and Johnny provoked my dad into storytelling mode, which isn’t hard to do. 

Trevor turns out the light and I bundle myself in the covers. He falls into bed beside me, and I can tell he’s wide awake. I feel fairly safe for right now, so I’m ready to catch up on the sleep I missed out on back home. Trevor tosses and turns a few times every other minute, which begins to annoy me. 

Suddenly, I feel him press up against my back. His hand travels from my waist to my stomach, where he tries to put his hand down the front of my pants. “Trevor,” I groan grumpily.

“What’s the matter?” He grumbles seductively. “I thought we could accomplish round two right now.”

“I’m exhausted and we’re surrounded by paper-thin walls with our family on the other side of them.” I remind him.

“I know,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s what’s turning me on right now; anyone could possibly hear us.” I just know he’s grinning wildly behind me.

“Two things,” I begin. “One: I’m tired, so I’m not in the mood. Two: I’m not going to subject anyone in this house to having to listen to that.”

“Alright, alright. No need to be grouchy. I understand ‘no’,” he says defensively and he wraps his arm around my waist. “I’m fine just holding you.”

* * *

“I love that dress on you,” Trevor says as I make him help me zip up the back.

“Thank you,” I say, very touched to hear that. “It’s one of my favorites too.”

We both walk out to the living room where my dad is talking to Johnny and Ryan is crawling around on the floor. They give us their full attention as we enter the room. Dad and Johnny look me over.

“You look beautiful,” Dad says. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, and I thought we could have Trevor and Johnny watch Ryan while we go to lunch.”

“Trevor, you’re not going to join us this time?” Asks dad.

“I thought it’d be nice to just have some one-on-one time,” I answer for Trevor. 

“Ok, that’s fine. Let’s get going then.” Dad holds the front door open for me. I give Trevor and Ryan a kiss goodbye and I step outside with my father. 

My dad has pretty much had the same car since I was a little girl. As I get in the passenger side, the familiar smell of family car trips and going to get ice cream on Sundays all comes back to me. Whenever he took me to get ice cream, he’d always let me sit up front after we left our street despite my mother’s wishes of me staying in the backseat.

“You know I love Trevor, but having lunch, just you and me, will be nice,” he says cheerfully as he drives down the street. 

“I agree. I was just thinking about how you used to take me out for ice cream on the weekends. This sort of reminds me of that,” I smile.

He looks over at me and smiles in return. “You’ve always been my little girl.”

Soon enough, we arrive at the little café that dad and I have lunch at every now and again. We sit in the same booth every time, but we make it a point to order something new every time we come here. It’s never very busy, so a waitress comes over right away to take our order. Dad orders a black coffee to start, and then the meatloaf with mashed potatoes. I decide on iced tea and a patty melt. 

When she leaves, dad asks, “So, what’s going on? You’re especially quiet.”

“Nothing. Why would you think anything’s wrong?” 

He gives me a very parental look. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You can talk to me, you know.”

I sigh, “I know I can, but not about this, dad. I’m sorry.”

“Did you and Trevor do something illegal again because you already know I don’t care. The only thing I’m against is murder. Don’t involve me in that.”

“Dad,” I say worriedly as I look around the café to make sure no one is listening. “Trevor and I didn’t do anything illegal. I promise no one was murdered. I just don’t want to worry you.”

“Well, saying that doesn’t exactly make me not worry. It’s a parent’s job to worry about their kids.” He says as the waitress brings us our drinks. We both smile innocently at her and she walks off again.

“I know, but you’re just going to have to trust me that Trevor and I are working on it.” I sigh.

“I know better than to push, so I won’t. I trust you and I trust Trevor.”


	9. Skipping Town

Trevor holds the door open for me and I awkwardly step inside the restaurant. He follows me in and his hand rest on my lower back. We approach the maître d’ and I give him Floyd’s surname, Hebert. He glosses over a list in front of him on the podium and directs us to our seats. I look at Trevor, surprised that Floyd would have us meet him at a place like this.

As we’re ushered to our seats, I lift the bottom of my gown so I don’t trip. I almost think we have the wrong table because I see a man that looks a lot like Floyd, but there’s a woman sitting next to him. As we get closer, I know for sure it’s Floyd. I give Trevor another stunned look. Floyd is dressed in a very nice tuxedo and the woman has on a fancy cocktail dress. 

They both stand to greet us. Floyd has an enormous smile on his face. “(Your name), Trevor, thank you for meetin’ me here.” He says happily. Floyd looks like he belongs in this upscale restaurant until he opens his mouth and that thick Grapeseed accent comes out. 

“No problem,” I tell him. “It’s always good to see you, Floyd. Please, sit.” All four of us sit down. I debate on prompting Floyd to introduce us to this woman that looks like she’s extremely nervous, but I can tell he wants to do _the big reveal_.

While we settle in our seats, I get another quick look at her. She’s very beautiful. Her hair is a dark auburn, pulled up into a French twist, and she has small, feminine features. When she has the confidence to look up for a brief second, I notice her wide hazel eyes. I look back at Floyd, who is blushing with a big smirk on his face.

“If y’all can’t tell by now,” he starts, “I wanted to introduce you guys to someone.” He turns to the girl, “These are my best friends I told you about: Trevor and (your name). Guys, this is Ivy. She’s my fianceé.” He smiles wildly at us.

My eyes light up. “I didn’t even know you were dating anyone!” I say excitedly. I get up out of my chair and walk over to Floyd to give him a hug. I give Ivy one too. “Congratulations to you both! This is so exciting! I’m glad you listened to me about getting out there, Floyd.” Trevor wedges in a congratulations to them while I’m quiet for a few seconds. He can already tell that I’m going to take this and run with it.

“Thank you,” Floyd says. “We’re wantin’ to get married sometime in early August. I had such a good time at y’all’s weddin’ that I wanted to ask you if you’d help plan ours.”

“Well, Amanda actually planned our wedding,” I inform him.

“If you feel comfortable with it, I’d like you to try your hand at plannin’ ours then. It would mean a lot.” Says Floyd.

I look at quiet Ivy. “Ivy, are you ok with that?”

“Oh, yeah, I trust Floyd 100%.” She assures me.

“Then I’d be happy to do it,” I smile.

Silence falls over the table. Ivy is completely out of her element; I can tell she’s scared to say the wrong thing in front of us. She wants Floyd’s friends to like her so badly. Floyd takes a look at the menu and so does Trevor. I guess it’s up to me to save the day. 

“Floyd, Trevor, could you both go to the bar and grab us some drinks? Trev, you know what I like.” I demand nicely. Floyd and Trevor look at each other, but get up and leave Ivy and I alone. “First, I would just like to tell you that you don’t have to be so nervous. Trevor and I are very down-to-earth people. I’m sure he’s going to say something eventually that’s a little too relaxed.” I roll my eyes at the thought of Trevor embarrassing me. “I also want to tell you that I am _so_ happy for you and Floyd.”

“Oh,” she blushes, “thank you. I’m usually not very shy, but Floyd talks about you both so much. I just really wanted to make a good impression.” She touches her hand to her cheek. There’s something so classy about her that I really like. She seems like a nice, old-fashioned girl that you’d see in a 1960’s Coke ad.

“Don’t worry. I like you already and I’m a very good judge of character.” I smile at her. “Tell me how you and Floyd met!”

“Well,” she begins, “I work at a little diner down the street from the Vanilla Unicorn. Your husband owns that, right?”

“Yes, he does,” I say with surprise that Floyd had told her that much.

“Floyd started coming into the diner for lunch almost every day about a year ago. After the first time he happened to sit in my section, he made it a point of always sitting there. Just coming in for lunch turned into lunch and dinner. At some point he finally got the courage to ask me out, and here we are!” She smiles happily.

“Forgive me if this is straightforward, but you’re ok with Floyd working at the Vanilla Unicorn?” I ask her candidly.

“Yeah!” She says genuinely. “I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted a man. He said he’s not attracted to women that just show off everything.”

“Good for you,” I reply authentically. “Anyway, I hope Floyd has painted a good picture of me and Trevor in your mind.”

“I assure you he’s said nothing but wonderful things,” she giggles. “That’s why I was so nervous to meet you. Floyd makes you sound so brave and so kind; I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

“Aw,” I place my hand on my chest. “I wish he would’ve introduced us sooner. I don’t get why he kept you a secret until you became engaged. That seems so unlike Floyd.”

“If I’m perfectly honest, I think we just got kind of swept up with each other. Neither one of us really has family here in the city, so it didn’t really occur to us to tell anyone until we decided to get married.”

“Have you met his cousin, Wade, yet?” I ask.

“Not yet. Floyd told me he’s nervous about introducing us because he’s afraid Wade will embarrass him. Floyd said their very different.”

My eyebrows knit together. “I think you’d like Wade. He’s, well, got a childish innocence about him. Everyone loves him though. He’ll stick his neck out for those that are close to him. I don’t really think Floyd and Wade are all that different. They’re both good people, but Wade’s style is just a little different.”

She whispers, “I heard he likes to wear _clown face_?”

I laugh. “Yeah. It’s a metalhead thing. He doesn’t wear it all the time. He just wears it when there’s a concert or something.” The conversation lulls a little bit. “So, tell me how Floyd proposed.”

“It’s not a super exciting story. He woke up before me one morning and made me breakfast in bed. Next to the plate of food was a little box. I opened it, this ring was in it,” she holds her left hand up, “and then he popped the question.”

“Wow, I love your ring! It’s gorgeous and it suits you” I tell her as I take her hand to get a better look at it. “Any proposal story is exciting. It’s one story that you’ll probably be asked to tell many times in your life.” 

“Speaking of that, I was going to ask you how your husband proposed!” Ivy says excitedly.

I sigh. “Well, I had just been through something kind of rough, so he took me to a beach house in Chumash. Some other friends of ours helped him put a special dinner together, and then afterward we decided to take a little stroll on the beach at night. At one point we sat down in the sand and just started talking. Then, he pulled out the ring and asked me to marry him.” I smile at the memory. “It was way overdue, may I add. We had been together for almost twenty years!” We both laugh.

“Floyd told me that you two just had a baby,” she mentions.

“Yes! We have a one year old son, Ryan.” I beam as I tell her about him. “Do you want kids?”

“I would _love_ to have kids. I always pictured having four little munchkins running around on a farm somewhere.” She says as though she’s in a daydream. I smile and shake my head slowly. “What?” She wonders.

“You’re perfect for Floyd.”

The two men arrive back at the table. Trevor puts a drink down in front of me and Floyd puts one down in front of Ivy. Then, they reclaim their empty seats. They both look at Ivy and I to gauge the tone of the conversation they walked in on.

“What were you two talking about?” Trevor asks.

“We exchanged proposal stories and then we were discussing children.” I inform the guys.

“Oh yes,” says Floyd. “I’m aware she wants a few of them.” Ivy blushes.

“What about you, Floyd? Do you want to be a father?” I ask.

“Yes, of course. Nothing would make me happier than to start a family with the woman I love. I’ve admitted this to Ivy though: I’m a little scared to do so after hearing your experience with having a baby.”

“I’m pretty sure my experience was an exceptional one. I was in an accident years ago and it damaged my lower abdomen. She’ll be ok if she’s healthy and has never had anything like that happen.” 

The table goes quiet again. I can tell Ivy is very curious about this “accident”, but that’ll have to be a story for another time. This is going to stay a happy, upbeat dinner. After all, Floyd and Ivy are getting married. This is exciting news and we should be celebrating.

* * *

All four of us walk out of the restaurant laughing. We part into two sets of two as we walk down the sidewalks to our cars. Ivy looks surprised, but amused as she sees Trevor and I stop next to the big red Bodhi. I quickly rush over to her and Floyd.

“It was really nice to meet you, Ivy. Maybe you and I can go out and do something together sometime.” I say softly.

“It was really nice meeting you too, and I’d really love that.” She hugs me goodbye and I give Floyd one too, and we wave to each other as I rush back to Trevor.

Floyd and Ivy get in his car quickly and leave the parking lot before Trevor and I are even in the truck. Trevor unlocks it and as I open the passenger door, I catch a scream in my throat before it escapes. I don’t want to make a scene. Trevor sees it as soon as he opens his door. 

There are dead animal parts littered across the driver’s and passenger’s seats. I can’t make out what animal they’re from this time in the cover of nighttime. This can’t be happening. Luckily, there’s an alley right next to the parking lot. Trevor covertly grabs the animal remains and takes them to a dumpster in the alley. He grabs a sheet of canvas that he uses to cover things in the bed of the truck and places it over the seats so it doesn’t ruin his suit and my evening gown.

Without a word, we get into the car and drive back to my dad’s house. We linger in the driveway for a few minutes to get our bearings. Trevor looks at me and I can tell he has a plan already formulated in his head. I’m thankful for that. Every time something like this happens, I feel like I lose my capacity for clear, rational thought a little more.

“Ok, this is what we’re going to do,” he quietly begins. “We’re going to go in and change our clothes. You finish packing up our things and I’ll clean up the seats. Then, tell your dad that Franklin called us while we were at dinner and that he needs to speak to us first thing in the morning, so we need to leave now. While you’re doing that, I’ll pack up Ryan’s things and tell Johnny all of this. We’ll drop him off at the club and then on the way there, you call Michael and fill him in.”

“Alright, I can do that.”

We walk into the house calmly. Everyone must be in their rooms because the front of the house is a ghost town. Trevor and I make a beeline for our room and we quickly take off our nice clothes for comfortable ones that we can move around in. I shove all of my clothes and Trevor’s clothes into the bags we brought with us and leave them by the front door.

My dad must have heard all the rustling around because he comes out of his bedroom. He notices the bags by the door and has a saddened look on his face. “What’s going on?” He asks sullenly. 

“Franklin called us in the middle of dinner. He has something important he wants to talk to me and Trevor about first thing, and it can’t wait so we’re going to head out now. Sorry, dad.”

He sighs. “Don’t be sorry. I know that your business can get a little hectic and I’m accepting of that. I just wish you could stay longer. I’ve really enjoyed having a full house this weekend.”

“I know and I promise we’ll do it again soon.” I tell him.

Johnny emerges from his room as Trevor comes back inside. He pulls Johnny into Ryan’s room, and I assume he’s giving him a rundown of what’s happening. A minute or so later, Johnny walks back across the hall and into his room to pack his things. I buy them some time by talking with my dad a little longer until Johnny comes back out with his bags and Trevor comes out with our son on his hip and Ryan’s bag in his other hand.

I grab the rest of the suitcases and we all go outside and fill up the back of the truck. Johnny jumps in the bed with all the luggage, waiting for us to depart. Trevor and I give my father a hasty goodbye and pile in the truck. I do feel guilty about pulling my dad back and forth like this without an explanation, but it’s for the better.

Once we’re a few streets down from my dad’s house, Trevor redirects our course for the Vanilla Unicorn. I pull out my phone and struggle to call Michael with Ryan in my arms. He whines a little bit from being woken up and the cold air whipping against the back of his head.

“Hey, Mikey. We have a bit of a situation. Trevor and I have to skip town for a bit, so we’re going to drop Ryan off with you guys. I promise you that we’ll keep in touch with you and give you information when we have it, but we’re short on time right now...Ok, thank you...You’re the best, Mikey!” I put my phone in the cupholder. “He’s waiting up for us.”

“Ok, great,” Trevor says emotionlessly. He’s too focused on getting us to the club quickly.

When we get there, the club is alive with activity. A few guys are hanging out outside and there a couple or two making out against the exterior wall of the club. The security guards give us a wave as we pull into the parking lot. Johnny hops out and takes his bags with him.

“I wish you guys all the best,” he says. “Keep in touch with me too. I’m going to worry about you both.”

“We will, Johnny. We’ll see you soon.”

Trevor guns it out of the parking lot. We have to make it back to downtown to drop Ryan off. Guilt overwhelms me at the thought of giving my father no explanation, leaving Johnny at the strip club, dumping our child onto our friends, and then leaving town indefinitely. I keep telling myself that it’s for everyone’s safety, but that only helps so much.

Michaels comes outside when he sees the headlights of the truck filter in through the glass windows on the front door. He looks serious. I hand Ryan to him and give him Ryan’s things. “I’m sorry we’re doing this so late at night and on such short notice. You know we wouldn’t do this if we thought it wasn’t necessary.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m happy to help you guys out no matter what. You guys are family and I know you’d do the same for us. We’ll keep you posted on this little guy. He’ll be safe here. Don’t worry.” Michael assures us.

“Thank you, Mikey.” I say sadly as I walk back to the truck with Trevor. 

I can’t look at Ryan in Michael’s arms as Trevor drives away. It’ll hurt too much. Trevor’s brain has gone into high gear, as indicated by his quietness. He’s extremely focused on following the plan exactly and ensuring everyone’s safety, which I do appreciate. It’s just that his silence also makes me feel alone in my thoughts.

He brings the truck to a halt in the driveway of the beach house. I used to feel so excited when we arrived at this spot, but now it’s starting to feel like the place we go to drop off the grid when trouble arises. Trevor hoists the bags out of the back of the truck and we both quickly lumber inside.

We immediately go upstairs and fall onto the bed. _Safety_ , for now at least. My mind starts to wander onto the idea of us never figuring out who’s doing this. What if this is just how life is going to be now? We go to Los Santos at least one week out of every month to see Ryan, but all the other weeks we have to find a new place to lay low. Maybe we’ll have to move back to Canada until this blows over. That is, if it does.

Trevor was clearly running on fullsteam because now he’s passed out next to me, snoring loudly. Great. He’s sprawled across the bed. I go around to the other side of the bed and get under the covers. I’ll have to use what little leg room I have and make it work for the time being.


	10. Judgement Call

_Shit._ I wake up to slightly blood stained sheets. In a panicked manner, I get out of bed and go to the bathroom with a change of pants and underwear. I packed in a hurry and didn’t take into consideration that Mother Nature would grace me with her presence. To be honest, I’ve been so stressed out that I thought I’d miss it this month.

Trevor is still out cold, so I take the keys from the nightstand and write him a note. It says that I’m going to the convenience store and that I’ll be back soon. With that, I run downstairs and outside to the truck before I ruin another set of clothes. I’m also going to have to pick up some bleach or something for the sheets. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

It’s early enough in the morning that the store is practically deserted. I duck into the feminine hygiene aisle and grab a random box, not wanting to be away from Trevor and vulnerable out in public for too long. I slide a ten dollar bill across the counter; Trevor and I agreed not to use our cards to avoid leaving a trail. I take the bag and my change from the cashier and quickly leave the store. 

The sun is just barely up and I struggle to find the correct key to unlock the truck in the dark. Hands come out from the darkness behind me. One clasps over my mouth and the other holds a knife to my throat. _Is this it?_ My back slams against the front of the other person’s body. I can tell it’s a very strong, muscular man. 

There’s no way around this. I try to sneakily toss the keys to the truck so that Trevor will at least have access to it when he discovers that I’m missing. Thank god I wrote that note before I left. That gives him at least something to go on.

“You’re going to do what I tell you, or I’m going to slit your throat right here in this parking lot. It’s your choice.” The man growls in my ear. “We’re going to slowly turn around and you’re going to get in the back of the black car.”

He begins to turn and I automatically spot the black car. There’s another person in the driver’s seat. It’s a man, but that’s about all I can make out in the dim lighting. I know he’s watching us as we slowly approach the car. “I’m going to open the door. If you scream when I remove my hand from your mouth, I want to remind you that I still have a knife to your throat.”

Slowly, he opens one of the back, side doors. I could probably grab his arm that’s holding the knife and twist it so that I’m behind him, and then push him against the side of the car so that he hits his head and knocks himself out. However, that still leaves the man inside the car. I can’t even try and the man with the knife pushes me into the back of the car.

I land on my side and he pushes me again so that he can get in the seat beside me. He grabs my hair and pulls me back up against him so he can put the knife back up to my throat. This gives me the perfect angle to see the driver’s eyes in the mirror. The man behind me grabs a strip of fabric off the floor and blindfolds me with it so I can’t see where they’re taking me.

After about thirty minutes of driving, the car finally stops and I hear the engine shut off. Both men get out of the car, and the one that was sitting beside me pulls me out of the car by my upper arm and pushes me in front of him. I almost lose my balance, but I quickly recover. My sense of hearing is now going into overdrive since I can’t see where we’re going. I think I hear running water, like a stream.

The man behind me grabs my hair again and directs me into a building. I can tell by how everything gets quieter and all of our footsteps echo. One of them grabs my arms tightly and I can feel the coldness of metal chains being wrapped around my wrists. He yanks my arms up overhead and hooks the chains to something, then removes my blindfold.

We’re in a warehouse of some sort. The floor is solid concrete and the walls are metal. Only a few lights work, making it look like the set of a horror film. The two men stand in front of me, staring at me. They’re both dressed in all black and wearing ski masks. However, I can tell the one with the knife is younger and he’s wearing more fitted clothing. He’s probably around my age and the other one, the one that drove us here, is a little older.

They remove their masks almost in unison. I want to laugh thinking about them possibly rehearsing that. The one with the knife _is_ in fact younger. He has light brown hair that he obviously gets cut at a higher-end salon in downtown Los Santos. He has light stubble and is honestly quite attractive. 

My gaze shifts to the other man. He has darker brown hair that’s cut into a mullet. His eyes are a darker brown too. I don’t know this man directly, but I know exactly who he’s associated with and why I’m here. He slowly approaches me and gets way too close to my face.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a thick, country accent that makes Floyd’s and Wade’s sound nice.

“Yes and no,” I say blankly. “You’re not one of the O’Neil brothers because Trevor killed them all, so my guess is you’re a close relative.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We got a winner! I’m a cousin of theirs, but they all were like brothers to me.” He gets slightly choked up.

“Because they probably _were_ your brothers too,” I laugh heartlessly.

He hits me across the face as hard as he can. He’s been waiting to do that; I can tell. My feet come out from under me from the force, but since my hands are suspended it’s not a big deal. However, I hear a slight ringing. It fades though.

“My name is Edward O’Neil,” he spits. “Remember that.”

“Well that’s fucking dumb of you to tell me,” I say sarcastically. I open and close my mouth, making sure my jaw isn’t broken or dislocated. 

“I want you to know who’s gonna kill you,” he growls.

I look him right in the eyes. “You’re crazy if you think you’re getting out of this alive. You’ve seriously fucked with the wrong family.”

“Right back at ya. You’re lucky that I’m gonna keep you alive a little longer so that you can make a phone call to Trevor. He’s the one I want, but using you as leverage will draw him right to me even quicker. First, you’re going to undergo your first round of torture! I want you crying and begging for your life when we call him. Andy?” Edward looks at the man with the knife, who I guess is Andy.

Andy steps forward towards me and takes my hands down from the hook they were suspended by. Edward disappears somewhere outside and Andy pushes me down onto the concrete floor with intentional and extreme strength. My body is in excruciating pain and I know I’m going to be covered in bruises in a few short hours just from that alone. 

He doesn’t let me slowly get up on my own. Instead, he yanks me to my feet by the chains wrapped around my wrists. I’m dragged over to an area and I notice a chair. Andy forces me to sit in it with my arms around the back of it. He fastens my ankles to the legs of the chair. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows and hits me right where Edward had. Is this their idea of torture? 

Not even thirty seconds goes by before Andy hits me again. Blood trickles into my mouth from my lip that’s now busted. Now I’m starting to get it. He lets even less time pass before he throws a punch from the other side. There’s blood dripping from my nose and onto my lap now. This goes on for a while. I lose track of time due to my focus on the pain and I think I blacked out at some point. It’s hard to focus on anything else when this won’t stop.

Edward comes back in after some time. “Alright, that’s good enough for right now. I don’t want you to kill her the first day we have her. Is she crying yet?” He calls over from the other side of the warehouse.

Andy tenderly brushes my hair away from my face like Trevor would, and I flinch. My entire upper half feels broken. Things sting and ache that I didn’t even know could sting or ache. He takes a good look at me, trying to see past the blood and forming bruises. “Yeah, but she’s trying to hold it in,” he tells Edward. “Aren’t you a tough cookie,” Andy teases.

“Good enough. Once she hears Trevor’s voice, that’ll open the floodgates.” 

Andy drags me back over to the other side of the warehouse and hangs my hands back up overhead. They dig in my pocket for my cell phone and call Trevor from it. This is my first chance at getting out of here. I just have to play my cards right.

“Hey, cupcake, I got your note. Are you still at the store?” He asks casually.

I bite my lip in an attempt at holding in my tears. If I let Edward be right about anything, it’ll make me feel like I’m already losing. He looks at me and mouths for me to answer Trevor. 

“Hello?” Trevor says. Andy raises his hand and I prepare for the blow. That motherfucker hits me and I involuntarily let out a high pitched, pained noise. “(Your name)?!” Trevor says worriedly.

“I’m here, Trev,” I say weakly.

“Where are you? What’s going on? Are you ok?” He asks frantically.

“I can’t tell you.” It hurts me to say that to him and I feel a tear roll down my cheek. “It was an O’Neil, Trevor.”

“Hiya, Trevor,” Edward says happily.

“Who _the fuck_ is this?!” Trevor erupts into anger.

“Edward O’Neil, how the hell are ya?”

“Well, Fuckward O’Dickface, I don’t particularly appreciate you taking my wife and holding her captive!” Trevor roars.

“Tell you what,” says Edward, “you can have her corpse when you find out where we are. ‘Till then, I want you to think long and hard about if killing my cousins was really worth it.” 

“ **I’m gonna fucking kill you just like I killed your inbred cousins! Mark my words!** ”

“I’d like to see you try,” Edward hangs up the phone. 

I throw my head back and begin to sob uncontrollably. My arms and legs are already tired and my body aches all over, but there’s nothing I can do. This is all part of the torture. Andy grabs my hair into his fist again and moves my head into the light.

“It’s a shame we had to beat the shit out of her already.” He says to Edward. “She’s actually pretty hot.” 

“You mean she _was_ hot.” Edward grins. “We’ll make her unrecognizable before too long. I’m going home for the day. You get her something to eat and watch her tonight.”

About an hour later, I’ve had enough time to calm down and Andy comes back with a poorly made sandwich and a plastic cup full of water. He sets it down on a nearby table to let my arms down and secure my feet to a metal shelf that’s built into the wall. He hands me the sandwich and water and then sits on a stool. I take a bite of the sandwich and we stare at each other.

“Where are you from?” I ask him.

“Don’t talk to me,” he says coldly. “More importantly, don’t look at me.” 

“I’m just trying to get to know the person that’s probably going to kill me, like Edward said.” I say sarcastically and take another bite of the sandwich. “My father used to tell me to always look a man in the eyes when speaking to him. It’s the most basic level of respect for another human.”

We make eye contact again. “What makes you think I should respect you?” I don’t reply to his ignorance. “Los Santos,” he sighs.

“I figured. How did you meet Edward?”

“I was just in the right place at the right time. He said he’d pay me good to do a bunch of little things for him.” He tells me.

“So, you were the one putting all those animal parts everywhere we went?” 

Andy doesn’t reply immediately. “It wasn’t my idea. I just carry out his orders.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little sad? You could very easily overpower Edward and give _him_ orders.” 

“Stop,” he says sternly. “I see what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work. I need the money and that’s my sole motivation.”

“Is his money worth my death to you? I mean, you’re the one that’s going to have to live with it. You were present for the phone call to my husband. You heard how angry he is already. If anything happens to me, he’ll hunt you down as long as he has to and kill you. Honestly, you don’t even have to kill me for that to happen. He’ll kill you for simply entertaining the idea. When he sees me covered in bruises and my own blood, you’re going to wish you were never born. Neither you or Edward have _any_ idea who my husband is and what he’s capable of.”

“Alright, that’s enough talking. You’ve got some nerve for just having the shit beat out of you. Edward isn’t here, but I’ll gladly move on to phase two without his permission.” Andy gets up and snatches the rest of the sandwich out of my hands.

He leaves the warehouse and I can hear him make a call outside. I start to brainstorm about how to navigate my current situation. My phone is still on and sitting on the table nearby, so Trevor and Michael could have Lester track it. I hope Trevor has thought of that by now. We hadn’t told Michael about why we were leaving town, but I hope he changes his mind at this point. I know he will. 

I’m the most important thing to Trevor. Everything I told Andy is the truth. Trevor will go to the ends of the earth if it means keeping me safe. He’d go through hell and back for me, and I’d argue that he already has. I don’t know how, but he’s going to get me out of here. Right?

* * *

“Alright,” Edward claps his hands together, “today is a new day, so hopefully you’re more willing to play ball.”

Andy drags me back over to the area with the chair from yesterday. Again, he ties my arms behind my back. Edward walks out of the building again. If you’re going to pay someone to torture me, then you damn well better watch, Edward. Andy retrieves a tray from the otherwise barren metal shelf and brings it over to the light so that I can see what’s on it. 

Every fiber of my being ties up on knots and I look away to avoid crying right off the bat. I saw a scalpel, a screwdriver, the knife from yesterday, a drill bit, nails, and a hammer. He picks up the scalpel and slowly walks in a circle around me, making my heart rate increase. Andy puts the scalpel up to my throat like he put the knife to it yesterday, and puts his face right next to mine. 

“You look really pretty when you’re scared,” he whispers into my ear.

“I bet you’re really popular with the ladies,” I mumble.

He presses the blade into my throat and slowly drags it across my skin. It feels like an intense papercut. I can feel a small bead of blood rolling down my chest. Andy watches it as it makes its way down and into the collar of my shirt. He bites his lip, which sends a chill down my spine. He’s unraveling as a person the more time he spends doing these things to me. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer me, which is a definite answer in my opinion. My throat stings superficially and I pray that it heals while I’m here. I’m fucked if it gets infected and I’d rather not have the constant reminder of a scar. I’d never be able to hide that every day. Andy looks behind himself, at the door that Edward exited through. He turns back to me and yanks me up from the chair.

I’m forced to my feet and he takes the chains off my wrists for a brief moment so that he can tie my arms together in the front. Before he does that, he aggressively reaches for the bottom of my shirt. I shove him backwards as a reflex and he stumbles back, knocking over the tray of tools. I try to run past him, but he trips me and I plummet to the ground. It hurts a million times worse than the fall from yesterday because of all the bruises the last one caused. 

I kick him behind the knee while I’m on the ground behind him, which causes him to fall too. Then, I try to crawl away. Andy grabs my ankle and drags me against the concrete floor towards him and he plunges the screwdriver into my thigh. I scream and Edward storms back in.


	11. Control

Twenty-four hours. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. At least half of that was spent standing, trying not to fall asleep for fear of Andy hitting me if I did. I dozed off a few times and was brutally awakened by him. He does it with a smile on his face and it’s like I’m watching him unravel as a human being with everything he does to me.

Edward enters the warehouse for the morning and he has a bag with him. He dumps its contents out on my leggings that lay on the floor in front of me. Andy removed them after he stabbed me with the screwdriver to get better access to it to try to remove it. There are different sizes of bandages, cotton pads, and an unopened bottle of vodka. 

“Alright, get over here. Let’s try to get that there screwdriver outta ‘er leg.” Edward sighs. “It’s still unclear to me how this even happened.”

“He’s a fucking pervert. That’s how,” my voice catches in my throat somewhat.

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Andy is quick to defend himself.

“You were going to,” I groan.

Edward looks back and forth between the two of us, wondering who to believe. For now, he doesn’t take a side. “Just get the damn screwdriver out. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll tell you this once: I’m paying you to rough her up, not for you to get your jollies.”

“Oh, so now you’re telling me that there are rules I have to abide by while we’re torturing her?” Andy says rhetorically. “By the way, you’re paying _me_ to do all this shit to her, so why don’t you stick to what you have to do and I’ll stick to what I have to do.”

“I can just as easily kill you and find someone else to do this,” Edwards snaps at Andy.

“Whatever,” he shrugs Edward’s words off and kneels beside me. He wraps his fingers around the handle of the screwdriver. 

“You shouldn’t take it out. I could probably bleed to death,” I tell them hoarsely.

“Shut up,” Andy says sternly. He yanks his arm backward, pulling the screwdriver out in one swift movement. 

I scream and Edward cups his hand over my mouth. Already, I begin to cry. A drop of blood slides down my leg and a steady stream of it soon follows. Andy opens the vodka and pours it over the wound. I scream again, but it’s muffled by Edwards hands. My tears fall onto his fingers. Quickly, Andy grabs the largest bandage and wraps my thigh up tightly.

They didn’t do a bad job of attempting to fix the situation considering how dumb and heartless they are, but Chef would probably have many critiques about what just happened. Edward removes his hands from my mouth and my sobs echo throughout the warehouse. He looks a little unsure of himself now, but Andy still has that disgusting smirk across his face.

“Ok,” Edward begins, “I have some other business to attend to today. Can I trust you to not stab her again?”

“Don’t worry, boss. It won’t happen again.” Andy reassures him with annoyance.

I don’t believe him for a second, and Edward looks like he doesn’t either. What choice does he have though? He leaves the warehouse, and as soon as the door closes Andy walks up to me in an aggressive manner. He grabs my lower jaw, which is all bruised up along with the rest of my body from yesterday. He gets close enough that I can feel his hot breath on my cheek.

“Listen here, bitch, if you say anything to him again I’ll do a lot worse to you next time. Now that we’re alone, I want to remind you who’s really in charge here.” He grabs the bottom of my shirt and cuts half of it off. “I’ll cut it entirely off if you make a single sound.” He holsters the knife and runs his hand along my hips, and sticks one of his fingers inside the waistband of my underwear.

“You’re not going to want to do that.”

He grabs my throat which makes the cut he made yesterday sting all over again. “What did I say about talking?!”

“I just wanted to let you know that not all of the blood is from the screwdriver incident.” In my head, I pray that will deter him from doing whatever it is he’s thinking of doing.

He gives me that awful smirk. “You think a little blood is going to make me think twice?” 

I close my eyes and try not to cry. I’ve never cried this much, even when I was pregnant. I’ve also never felt so helpless. His hand traces the waistline of my underwear again, like he thinks I’m actually enjoying this. I feel nothing. I have to disassociate and feel nothing in this moment in order to survive it.

He moves his hand a little farther into the thin piece of fabric that’s keeping me from complete humiliation. His fingers feel around, making me anxious for what’s to come next. I have to force back sobs to prevent him from acting on his word. Then, much to my surprise, he withdraws his hand and everything is quiet for a moment. 

“Open,” he says. “Open your eyes!”

Fearfully, I slowly open my eyes. My vision is blurry from the tears trying to escape, but I can see enough. Andy is standing just a few inches in front of me and he’s holding his hand up. It’s completely red. He still has that fucking slimy grin on his face.

“I want you to make eye contact with me,” he whispers with desire in his voice.

Slowly and reluctantly, I raise my tearful eyes to his. He tenderly touches his bloody hand to the side of my face and laughs. He wipes all the excess blood off onto what remains of my shirt. As I start to cry even harder, he leaves the warehouse for a prolonged period of time. 

When I was first brought here, I thought Edward was going to be my main problem. I thought I’d be able to get through to Andy and get him on my side. Now I see that Andy is going to be a problem for both me and Edward. Andy is a sick, sadistic person that shows a little bit more of his deviancy every day.

He comes back in and tells me that he got a phone call from Edward. He has the “ok” from Edward to move ahead with the torture process, as if it ever ended. Edward has no idea the shit Andy does to me when he leaves.

Andy takes my arms down from the hook and pulls me by my hair over to the chair. My ankles are tied to the legs of the chair first to prevent another scenario like yesterday. He takes the chains off from my wrists, pushes me down onto the chair and ties each wrist to each side of the chair. Then, he kicks the chair back and it hits a cement block behind me, knocking the wind out of me.

The area near my head is on a slight incline due to the cement block. I know exactly where this is going. Andy places a cloth over my face and I brace myself. The sensation of cold water hitting my face startles me and I immediately go into a coughing fit, trying to get the water out of my nose and the back of my throat. 

He does this off-and-on for well over ten minutes and then pushes the chair back up. My hair is soaking wet and clings to my face as I cough up water. He unties my wrists and goes to put the chains back around them, but I push him back to give myself a moment to get all the water up from my lungs. 

Mercy of any kind will not be received from him. He hits me so hard that the chair knocks over on its side. He binds my wrists with the chains again and unfastens my ankles from the legs of the chair. Again, he pulls me by my hair back over to the area where my hands are suspended overhead.

Between sobs and coughs, I scream, “Can you give me just one goddamn second?! You drag me back and forth and don’t give me just one fucking second to regroup! You almost just killed me, you piece of shit!” I know that talking back in any capacity is going to bring on punishment of some sort, but I’m hitting my limit. It’s unbearable. 

Of course, he hits me again and I fall onto my bruised and scraped up knees. The jolting pain of this action just makes this situation even worse. I continue to cry loudly and that pisses him off. He yanks the chains around my wrists up so that I have to stand and places them on the hook hanging from the ceiling.

Edward walks in and looks at me. It almost looks like he feels bad for a second when he sees me crying sloppily. “What is all that blood on her face from? You didn’t do something other than what I told you to do, did you?”

“No, of course not. I learned my lesson the first time.” Andy lies. “Right?” He turns to me.

“I-I…” It’s hard for me to speak right now as I’m trying to process everything that’s happened today.

“I, what?!” Andy yells.

“I f-fell,” I stutter.

“Must’ve been a hell of a fall,” Edward says.

“It sure was,” Andy continues to cover up what he did, and it makes me sick because I know it’s only going to continue and get much worse. “She seems pretty upset right now. I think it’s time to give Trevor a call. Don’t you?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Agrees Edward.

He picks up my phone from the table nearby, which I remember has anti-track software on it. That’s why it’s taking so long for Trevor to find me and I hope that he’s consulted Lester at this point. They call Trevor and he almost immediately picks up. The first thing he hears is me bawling in the background.

“Hi, Trevor. We wanted you to hear how much fun we’re having with your wife here.” Edward taunts him.

“What is the end game here, you sick fucks? What do you want me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t want you to do anything, Trevor. I just wanted to take an important person from you like you took several important people from me.”

“I didn’t keep your fucking cousins somewhere captive, you dimwit! I just shot them all, one-by-one!” Trevor yells.

“Are you saying you want us to just shoot her?” Edward and Andy laugh.

“Of course not, you ignorant fucks!”

With every last bit of energy I have, I let out a blood curdling scream. “ ** _TREVOR!!!_** ” Both Andy and Edward look at me and their faces go pale. 

“(Your name)?!” His voice softens. “Let me speak to her!” Oddly enough, they listen to Trevor. Edward walks over and puts the phone up for us to talk to one another.

“Trevor…” I groan.

“Are you ok? Did they hurt you?”

Just hearing his voice and being talked to kindly for once makes me even more upset. “No, I’m not o-fucking-k! And yes, they hurt me! Please get me out of here! I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“I’m working on it, baby,” I can hear the heartbreak in his voice. “I promised you I’d figure this out and I’m sticking to my word. Just hang in there, for me.”

“I’ll try. And Trevor?”

“Yeah, crazy cakes?” 

“I love you.”

Edward immediately hangs up the phone before Trevor can say anything else. Everything about this is just a game to them, which is what makes it so dangerous. Neither one of them has anything to lose, but I have everything to lose. We could be playing this game as long as it entertains them, which will be until they accidentally kill me.

* * *

Andy quickly walks into the warehouse and sits down on the stool. He looks at me like he has something important and exciting to tell me. The fact that it’s him giving me this look tells me that it’s probably going to be something important and horrifying for me. 

“Edward isn’t coming in today. It’s just you and me.” Andy tells me as he takes the chains down off the hook overhead. I drop to the floor weakly. “So, you get a break. For now. I have festivities planned for later though.”

“Like what?” I ask, equally curious and anxious.

“Let’s not rush it,” he smirks. “I’d like a bit of foreplay before we get into the thick of it.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice is weak and it hurts all over just to move an inch. With every day that passes and every horrible thing they do to me, my bruises and scrapes get worse. I don’t think I’d recognize myself anymore if I were to look in a mirror.

“Are you telling me that you want to skip it?” He asks me to seal my fate of trauma for today. “If you insist,” he sighs.

He pulls me up to my feet by the chains around my wrists, as usual. I assume he’s going to take me over to the chair, but I’m wrong. He walks me over to the old, rough wooden table. Just when I think he’s going to go gentle on me today, he turns me around and forces me to bend over the table by pushing my back down as hard as he can. My chest slams into the table with my arms underneath, making it a little difficult for me to breath.

I feel his hands begin to pull my panties down and I put up a fight, but it’s no use. Andy is much stronger than I am, and he gets them down. Splinters dig their way into my arms and hands with every move I make. It doesn’t take much to get me to cry anymore because I’m constantly scared of outliving my usefulness. His hand grazes against every part of my newly exposed skin.

Inside, I pray that this is all he’s going to do. _Please_ let this be all he wants. I already know that there’s no use in thinking these things because Andy is not a sane person. His hand lingers in one place and my worst fears begin to come to fruition...


	12. Hell and Back Again

I sit in the corner with my wrists and ankles bound, listening to Edward and Andy’s conversation.That’s all I’m capable of. Over the past few days, I’ve been beaten down in more ways than one. I’ve hit the capacity for being able to function under pressure. I don’t cry anymore when I’m being hurt or humiliated. That frustrates Andy to no end and I know I’m wearing thin on their patience. I honestly don’t know how close Trevor is to finding me, and at this point I don’t know if he’ll find me alive.

“I don’t know, bud. I thought we would’ve made better progress than this by now. Do you think Trevor’s even lookin’ for her?” Edward whispers.

“None of that is my concern. You just hired me to torture her. Should we do something else to her today?”

“No! She’s gone completely pale and she’s covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. She’s skinnier than when we got her. I don’t think she can take much more and I’d prefer her to be alive when Trevor finds her. I just wanted her for collateral; I don’t want to _actually_ kill ‘er. I’m scared that we’re going to come here one morning and find her dead.”

“Maybe you should try talking to her,” Andy suggests.

“You know she hasn’t been talkin’. What good is that gonna do?” 

“It’s worth a try,” he shrugs.

Edward slowly walks towards me and kneels down beside me, invading my small corner of the world. I think he’s started to feel bad about what they’ve done to me during our time together. He wanted Trevor to hurt the way Trevor made him hurt, but he isn’t strong enough to stand by and watch lives being destroyed. 

“Hey,” he starts quietly. “Will you talk to me today?” I don’t answer, and he already knew I wouldn’t. Why would I? I have nothing to say to either one of them. “You givin’ us the silent treatment doesn’t make this any easier, for you or us. I know we’ve kept you from eatin’, but I really think you should have somethin’ to eat. You don’t look too good.”

No. I refuse to eat even though I’m literally starving. They don’t get to intentionally starve me and then tell me I need to eat. Fuck that. I just want to be left alone. I don’t want to hear anyone’s voices because sound of any kind is sometimes overwhelming to my senses. I pray every second of every day to just let go.

Sometimes the thought of Trevor or Ryan makes me rethink that, but the constant agony that just sitting here gives my beaten body makes death more desirable. There is no comfort for me. I’m bruised, and probably broken, all over. I sit, almost in a catatonic state, in this corner in constant pain and I just wish it would stop. 

Trevor wouldn’t want me to be in pain, so why am I still here clinging to life? The fact that about a week has passed has made me wonder if he even cares. Is he even looking for me? There’s no way for me to know. I don’t blame him for any of this though. Who knows how much longer I’ll be sitting in this corner, and honestly I don’t care anymore. I just want to let go and end this suffering, for everyone involved.

* * *

Edward goes leave the warehouse for the day after much deliberation on what to do with me, and Andy sits across from me and just stares. He’s the main reason I’m like this now and I hate him for it. I wish I had the strength to get up and choke him out with his own shirt. That’d be fair. He thought it was funny to do to me, and I’d _love_ to have the last laugh.

He gets up and approaches me with confidence. There’s no ounce of guilt in him, unlike Edward. Andy kneels in front of me and moves my hair out of my face. It infuriates me when he touches me in any way, and he knows it. He sits down beside me, unties my wrists and ankles because he knows I’m too weak to do anything. He tries to kiss me and stick his hand between my legs, but I fight him off. 

His usual response is to hit me until I submit. He shifts all his weight on top of me and pins my arms to the ground. Somehow, he manages to spread my legs apart with his and he reaches down to move my underwear to the side. As he’s about to overtake me, he suddenly stops and I look up at him. 

There’s a sharp point jutting out from his throat. Drops of blood drip down onto my chest from it. I watch as his eyes go cloudy and his body falls beside me. I look up and Trevor is standing over us. He drops to his knees and I can see tears in his eyes as he looks me over.

He’s scared to touch me out of fear of hurting me. Even though simple light contact does hurt, I sit up as quick as I can and fall into his arms. He squeezes me so tightly that it feels like my body is going to snap in half, but I don’t care. I immediately start bawling hysterically out of relief. There were times when I had doubt, but I never completely lost hope. I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like years.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he says all choked up. “I should’ve gotten here sooner.”

“I’m alive,Trevor,” I say shakily as I take his head in my hands. “You did perfect.”

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Trevor says, sounding like he’s fighting hard to be the strong one for me.

“No, no, no.” I say over and over. “I’ve been away from home too long. I just want to go home, Trevor.” I look up into his eyes.

“Ok,” he says softly. “Ok, but I’m getting Chef to come to our house as soon as possible. You’re not well.”

“Fine. I just want to go home.” A tear rolls down my cheek and Trevor wipes it away.

“We’ll go home.” He hugs me warmly again.

“Wait,” I sit up and my posture gets stiff. “Where is Edward? This is only one of them.” I point to Andy’s body.

“We caught him right as he was leaving. Johnny and Michael are out there trying to get information out of him.”

Trevor watches me as I struggle to get up to my feet on my own. I yank the knife out of Andy’s throat and storm out of the warehouse. Trevor tries to keep up with me and is trying to talk me out of whatever I’m going to do. Michael and Johnny grimace as they see what’s become of me. They have Edward on his knees with his hands bound behind his back. _Perfect_.

I don’t even care that I look like the living dead or that I’m only wearing dirty underwear and a ripped, cropped version of the t-shirt I was last seen in, both of which are also bloodsoaked. Edward turns to see what they’re looking at and his eyes widen when he sees me. I look at him with pure vengeance and disdain in my eyes and he notices the knife in my hand. 

“I’m sorry! Really! Please don’t do anything rash!” Edward pleads.

“Yeah? Sorry isn’t good enough! You deliberately told Andy to do all of those things to me, but you didn’t even know what a sick puppy he was when you left for the day. You brought this on yourself, and I will _never_ feel any guilt about it. You can rot in hell with the rest of your cousins.” I plunge the knife into his face.

He chokes on his own blood and makes gurgling noises. Michael and Johnny step back from me and Edward falls to the ground. I straddle his dead body and stab him over, and over, and over, and over again. Trevor, Johnny, and Michael all look at each other, wondering if they should step in somehow. Finally, I stop and throw the knife to the side when I’m satisfied with the new swiss cheese version of Edward. 

My body gives out and I fall on my back beside Edward. All three of the boys huddle around me and I can feel every piece of gravel poking me in the back. A quick death was too good for Andy and Edward, but I’ll have to be content with the fact that they’re no longer in the world. Then, everything goes black.

* * *

I wake up at home on the living room couch. Trevor is sitting on the end of the sofa with my feet in his lap as he watches tv. As I slowly sit up, Trevor shuts the tv off and turns towards me. I grab my head, which is pounding. My arms are no longer splattered with red, but now just black, blue, and purple. Trevor must’ve cleaned me up a little.

“We need to talk, just you and me.” He says seriously.

“About what?”

He looks surprised. “You’ve been held hostage and clearly tortured for the last few days. I need you to talk to me about what happened.”

“I-I’m sorry. Everything feels fuzzy right now,” I say weakly, “and it’s hard to focus.”

“Can you remember what happened?” He asks.

I grow visibly uncomfortable and nod. “I remember everything.”

“Ok. Well, we can start slowly and we don’t have to do this right now if you’d rather wait. I just wanted to let you know that I want to talk about this at some point.”

“Can I take a bath and get changed first? I want to get out of these clothes and be rid of them forever.” 

“Yeah, of course, sweetie. I’ll be down here if you need anything. Just holler.” He says sweetly.

“Trevor,” I pause before I leave the room. “Are we safe now?”

He smiles, “We’ve never been safer.”

Alone, I climb the staircase which is extremely painful. I should call Trevor for help, but I need to be alone right now. I’ve just had my space invaded everyday for nearly a week, and although I love Trevor’s company, I just need to be left alone and do things for myself. 

Johnny’s in his room, blaring music. I feel like I should go in and give him an explanation. He got caught in the middle of this and I’ll never quite feel right about that, but I pass his door. I poke my head into Ryan’s room. The thought of him is partly what kept me alive. He’s asleep right now, which is for the best. I need some time to get my head straight before I can go right back to being his mother. 

Next, I head into the bedroom and close the door. As much as I want to fall onto the bed and take in the feeling of the soft sheets, I need to clean myself up first. I’ve never been this filthy and it makes me feel just as filthy on the inside. I turn the shower on and remove the disgusting clothing I’ve been stuck in. They get tossed onto the floor for future burning. 

When I step into the shower, lukewarm water feels like it’s boiling hot because of the damage to my skin. I stare at my feet and the stream of red, black, and brown coming off me. It looks like I had been crawling through barbed wire and mud for the past week, which is close to how it felt. I take a rag and some soap and scrub at all parts of my body. This takes about an hour for me to get myself completely clean. Although I’m no longer covered in a thick layer of grime, I liked it better than the way all the bruises make me look like an alien.

From the glass shower, I can see my reflection in the mirror. I was right; I don’t look like me. The only thing I recognize is my dark brown, almost black, hair. I sit down in the shower and begin to reflect. The way it feels to be hit with extreme anger and hatred, the way emotionless and detached torture feels, and the way it feels for someone to take precious privacy away all comes flooding back to me at once. 

My hands cover my face, trying to shut it out for right now. I’m home and I just want to be able to feel happy, but the tears come streaming out. I choke back my sobs so that no one hears me. I really don’t want to be around anyone right now and I definitely don’t want to have anyone pity me right now. I don’t want to hear the words _I’m sorry_. 

After I’ve calmed down, I get up out of the shower and dress myself in clean soft clothes. I forgot what a luxury that alone could be, and then I crawl into our bed. The soft sheets against my face, arms, and feet are something I will never take for granted again. I curl up and wrap myself in the blankets.

The bedroom door opens behind me. I know it’s Trevor and I know he wants to talk. I sit up carefully and look at him as he sits beside me on the bed. He smiles at me and goes to brush my hair behind my ear, but I flinch as a reprogrammed reaction. Trevor’s smile fades.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Every inch of you is bruised. Do you want me to get you anything?”

My voice croaks, “I haven’t eaten since the last day I saw you.”

His jaw clenches in anger at that thought, but he’s trying to keep it together right now because I need him. “Alright, I’ll get you something to eat.” He stands and leaves the room again.

I don’t know who this is harder on: me or him. This was supposed to be a good thing, but I know the real trouble is just beginning. I remember what it was like after the heist-gone-wrong in North Yankton. I kept reliving that day over and over in my head and my subconscious would twist the events in a more bizarre way when I dreamt. I’d wake up screaming and sweating profusely. I don’t want that again, but I know there’s healing to be done.

Trevor comes back with a bowl in his hand. He sets it down on my lap. It’s a hot bowl of soup, although it’s more like a hot bowl of broth and a few beans and pieces of chicken here and there. I watch the steam rise off of it and even though it doesn’t look that appetizing, my mouth is watering.

“I know you probably want something more, but I want you to take it easy if you haven’t eaten for a few days. You’ll probably find that you get full quicker than you expect. This is probably all you’ll want for the rest of the day.” He explains.

“It’s fine. It actually smells really good.” I eat a spoonful and it’s actually very good, but maybe that’s just because I’m starving. “It _is_ really good,” I tell him.

Trevor forces a smile, “Good.” He notices something and his eyebrows crease. He reaches for my arm and gently takes me hand so that he can get a better look. The skin around my wrists stands out because they’re red and raw. “Did they have your wrists bound?” He asks me as he looks in my eyes for the truth.

I nod and then silently eat another spoonful of soup. He was right about getting full more quickly. I can only eat about two-thirds of the soup he brought me. I put the bowl on my nightstand and Trevor watches me like a hawk.

“You’re still wearing your ring. I’m surprised they didn’t take that.”

I look down at it. “Over my dead body would they take it from me.” Trevor looks at me seriously. I know what he’s thinking; he’d want me to do whatever I have to in order to survive, which includes giving them my ring if they asked. I could never do that though, so I guess I’m lucky they didn’t care about it. “I suppose we should talk now.”

He sighs. “Look, I know it’s going to be hard for you to talk about, but it’s going to be just as hard for me to hear. It makes me sick to think about anyone laying a finger on you. You don’t know how it feels to look at you.”

“You don’t know how it feels to look at me _as_ me.” I reply. “It felt good to kill Edward after what he did, but it would’ve felt even better to kill Andy.”

“Was Andy the one that I killed?”

“Yeah, he was way worse to me than Edward. I knew that Edward at least felt shame for what he had done at some point. Andy fucking enjoyed it.” I say disgustedly.

“I’ve been thinking about this since it happened, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear the answer. What was he trying to do when I came in?” He asks nervously.

“He was trying to do exactly what it looked like, but I assure you nothing ever progressed that far before. You came to my rescue at just the right time.” 

“I guess I’m glad, but I want to know everything that happened while you were with them. Start at the beginning.” 

“Well, you know I went to the store. I left you that note. Andy put a knife to my throat as I was trying to get in the truck to go back to the beach house. They drove me to that warehouse. Everyday they exercised a new type of torture on me and hit me when I wouldn’t comply. Edward never directly did anything to me; he just ordered Andy to do everything.” I explain.

“What was that thing you said to Edward before you, well you know?” He says awkwardly.

“What part?”

“You said something about Edward not knowing what Andy was like when he wasn’t around.”

“Oh, that,” I scof. “Edward kept things pretty tame, but when he left, Andy was more brutal. He made me lie to Edward about every new injury.” This is the part that I struggle with, and I begin to cry. 

“Can I hold you?” Trevor asks. I nod quickly and shake as I wipe the tears from my eyes. Trevor gets up and sits behind me, enveloping me in his arms. It does hurt slightly, but it feels so amazing to be in his arms again. “I want you to know that you’re the strongest person I know. It’s ok to not be strong after everything that’s happened. I know things are going to be different and more difficult for a little while, and that’s ok.” He says to me quietly, which makes me cry even harder knowing that I’m surrounded by people that are going to treat me beyond well. “I have a feeling you’re downplaying what happened.” He feels my head nod as he clutches me to him. I can hear him choke up as he tells me, “You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready.”

Ryan starts crying in his room for someone to come get him from his crib. Trevor looks at the door and then back at me. I cling to his arm, not wanting him to go but I understand that Ryan needs his parents. Trevor tells me he’ll be right back and goes to tend to our son.

After a few minutes of Trevor being gone, I follow him to our son’s room. I stand in the doorway and watch Trevor changing Ryan’s diaper and re-dressing him. He picks Ryan up and faces me. 

“Look, there’s mommy,” Trevor says to him and points to me. I step closer to them. Ryan sticks his hand in his mouth curiously and starts to cry. He doesn’t recognize me. Tears well up in my eyes and I leave the room. Trevor immediately feels bad and calls after me down the hall, but I ignore him.

* * *

I’ve watched the clock for the past hour. Trevor’s arm feels heavy draped across my waist. It still feels foreign for someone to touch me in a loving way. I roll over to face him and it wakes him up. We look into each other’s eyes and he smiles. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says groggily.

“Good morning, handsome,” I reply. “Time to start my first full day home.”

“It’s going to be a good day. I can tell,” he kisses me and it comes as a shock to me. I know my face must’ve given that away because he asks, “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I smile. “I’m going to go do my makeup. I want to look somewhat normal today.”

I get up out of bed eagerly and make my way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I take a good, long look at myself. It’s going to be hard to mask this, but it’s not impossible. I open my makeup drawer and start with my moisturizer. My skin feels deprived of even the most basic skin care. 

Then, I apply a thick layer of foundation. This is what’s going to get me through this rough transition period with ease. I blend it out across my face and also down my neck and chest. Despite a few cuts here and there on my face, it looks like nothing even happened. I add concealer, powder to set, and then a simple earth-toned eye look. 

Trevor wanders in the bathroom, still waking up. Being the gentleman he is, he goes right ahead and takes a morning leak. While he does so, he looks over at me in the mirror to see what I’m doing. “Holy shit!” He exclaims.

“What? Do I look worse than before?” I ask.

“No! You look the way you did the last time I saw you. That’s insane that you can do that with makeup.” He says, surprised.

“Why do you think we girls love it so much?” I laugh. “It’s a goddamn blessing for me now with the way I look without it.”

“You’re just as beautiful without it as you are with it. It’s just crazy to see you looking like that after seeing how bruised you are.” 

“I know what you mean. I’m going to have to put it on in the mornings before I leave the bedroom now so that Ryan will let me come near him without crying.”

“Hey,” Trevor says as he lumbers over to me. “You know he doesn’t understand. If he was older, it would have gone differently.” He wraps his arms around me from behind and I start shaking. I immediately stop making eye contact with him in the mirror.

He let’s go of me. “Are you ok? What’s going on?”

“I-I-I don’t know,” I say confusedly.

Trevor turns me around to face him. “Maybe you should just go lay down. Don’t try to go back to normalcy so quickly. Let yourself ease into it.”

“I need to throw myself back into normalcy or else I’ll dwell on everything that happened. It’s better for me to occupy my mind.” I tell him.

“Ok, but don’t push yourself.” He leaves the bathroom and disappears into our closet to get dressed for the day.

We reconvene downstairs in the kitchen. Ryan hasn’t cried once since seeing me this morning with a bunch of foundation covering the discoloration of my skin. I understand though. I probably looked like an actual monster to him. Trevor kisses me on the cheek while I attempt to feed our son.

“I talked to Ron a few minutes ago. I know I just brought you home, but this was the quickest and easiest place to bring you. I think we should stay in Sandy Shores for a bit. You need to have Chef take a look at you anyway, and we probably shouldn’t be here for a few days.”

“I thought you said we were safe,” I say disappointedly.

“We are, but I think it’s just a good extra safety measure to get out of town.” He tells me

“Who all did you tell about this? I don’t want to have to explain it to any more people than I have to.”

“Johnny and Michael know, obviously because they helped me find you. Lester helped bug the anti-track software on your phone so we could get a location on you. Ron and Chef know because I told them we might be coming up there. No one else knows. Floyd, Wade, Amanda, Jimmy, Tracey, Franklin, and your dad are all in the dark.”

“My dad,” I mumble. 

“Da-da.” Ryan repeats back.

“I’m right here, little man,” Trevor scoops him out of his high chair. 

“What about him? Didn’t you just pick him up from Michael and Amanda’s? I’m worried that he’s going to start having abandonment issues since we keep dropping him off there. Are we just going to leave town without him again?”

“Honey, he’s not even two yet. I don’t think he’s even going to remember this part of his life, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. We can take him with us if you want to, but I also think you need time to yourself. If we take him, you’re going to have to promise me to let me be the one to take care of him.” 

“You don’t think I can take care of my own son?!” I snap at Trevor. He raises an eyebrow at me and I slump in my seat. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

“I do,” Trevor shifts Ryan over to his other hip. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re neglecting to care for yourself, which you desperately need right now. After going through what you just went through, you’re going to have to learn how to trust people again and know that none of us are going to hurt you.”

“I know that you and the other people we choose to surround ourselves with won’t hurt me, and I do trust all of you.” I try to convince him.

“You flinched yesterday when I tried to move your hair out of your face,” Trevor reminds me. “Me! _Your_ husband.” We sit in silence for a few seconds and then he says, “Look, I’ve already told you that I know it’s not going to be easy, but you can’t treat this as any less than it is. Whatever happened was traumatic, and it’s going to affect you. Accept that, because I have and I’m ready, willing, and able to help you through it.”

“Thank you, Trevor. I love you.” I smile at him. I’m so incredibly lucky to have him in my life, but that still doesn’t make me want to tell him every excruciating detail of what went on in that warehouse. He’s like a dog with a bone though; he’s not going to let me get away with not talking to him about it. Until then, I’ll bide my time for as long as I can.

“I love you more,” he grins.


	13. Fester

“Well, here we are,” I say dejectedly. “You always bring me here when shit hits the fan.” Ryan is clutched tightly to my chest as I get out of the truck with Trevor. My feet hit the sand and it immediately takes me back down memory lane. 

Ron scrambles out of the trailer and down the steps to greet us. Chef is close behind him. “I’m so glad to see you guys! I was starting to get worried. Come on in! I see you brought Ryan. He’s growing so quick.”

“Jesus, Ron. I know I jokingly call you nervous, but we only just got here. Calm down.” Trevor jeers as he brings in all the bags. 

“Don’t listen to him,” I roll my eyes. “We’re excited to see you too.” I give Ron and Chef a side-hug with Ryan still latched onto my other side.

“I’m really sorry to hear what happened to you,” Ron says sheepishly. I force a smile.

“Ron,” Trevor diverts his attention. He knows I’m not ready for people to bring it up quite so casually. “You get in here and help me with, uh, something. I’ll find something for you to do. Just get in here. In the meantime, why don’t you and Chef go next door so he can take a look at you.” Trevor says to me as he takes Ryan and goes into our old trailer with Ron. 

Chef and I begin to walk next door, where Ron lives. “For once, it’s actually kind of nice to be back in Sandy Shores. We don’t have any business to attend to while we’re here, so we can just relax. The city is pretty noisy and always so busy. People out here just always seem so carefree.” 

“I never thought I’d hear you say you’re glad to be here,” he laughs, “but like Ron said, we’re glad to have you here. It gets pretty lonely out here in the desert.”

“Yeah, I remember that. You know what they say though: the grass is always greener on the other side.” We walk into the dimly lit trailer together.

“You can just take a seat on the couch,” he motions towards it. 

Chef sits down beside me and takes one of my arms, inspecting it like Trevor had done the previous day. He turns it carefully and his eyebrows crease in heavy thought. He applies pressure to different parts of my arm, like he’s feeling for something and watches my reaction. He does the same thing with the other arm and then my legs. He notices that I grow rigid when he makes his way up above the knee.

“Turn your head for me,” he instructs and I turn my face away from him. I feel him move my hair and I flinch involuntarily. This frustrates me and he notes that reaction. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Please continue.” 

He brushes my hair away from my neck. “Look up. Ok, good. Now can you stand and hold your arms perpendicular?” I feel a little silly, but I do as he tells me. “I’m going to examine your abdomen.”

“I know,” I reply passive-aggressively.

“I’m just giving you a heads-up,” he counters. Chef moves his fingers over my rib cage and I grimace. “Does that hurt?” He asks, and I nod in reply. He continues with the examination around my spine and then ends at my sternum. “Ok, you can sit.” He turns on a lamp behind him on the end table and sits next to me on the couch, taking in my facial features and still taking note on things about them. 

“Well, Dr.Chef, what’s the prognosis?” I ask sarcastically.

“Your eyes are red, and I’m pretty sure that’s not just from a lack of sleep. There’s significant bruising all over your body, including behind your ears where there are also pressure marks. Your voice sounds a little more raspy than usual. Also, you made a face when I applied pressure on your ribs on your right side.” 

“Go on,” I urge him.

“You were obviously beaten, and my guess is that you were also strangled. I’m pretty sure you have a fractured rib, but it feels mostly healed. The only thing you can do for that is rest, put ice on it, and take acetaminophen as an anti-inflammatory when you need it.” He pauses abruptly.

“Is there something else you want to say because you’re being pretty brief?” I look at him apprehensively.

“I just told you the physical symptoms of what you went through. There are other ones that can’t be seen or physically felt. Only _you_ know what truly happened, but from everything I just found I’d say you’re _really_ lucky to be alive.” He says.

“What are you implying?”

“Maybe you should talk to Trevor, or someone with professional training in dealing with the effects of something like this.” He suggests timidly.

“I’m fine,” I say coldly. “I just got back two days ago. It’s going to take me a little bit to settle in, but I’m ok. I’ve gotten through traumatic events before.”

He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. “Ok. Whatever you say.”

We get up and go back to the other trailer. Trevor is lounging on the couch, watching tv with Ryan in his lap. Ron is spastically stirring a steaming pot on the stove. I sit next to Trevor on the couch and Ryan crawls over to me. I hold him and Chef looms next to Trevor.

“Hey, T, can I show you something really quick? Ron and I have been wanting to ask you for your opinion on it.” Chef says casually.

“Yeah, sure. Where are we going?”

“Just outside.”

The two walk out the door and leave Ron, Ryan and I inside. I take the remote and change the channel to something more lighthearted. Ron places the wooden spoon in his hand to the side of the stove and sits down next to me. He happily watches Ryan staring at him with wonder.

“It was always one of my biggest regrets that I never had kids,” Ron says, breaking me out of my zone-out.

“It’s a really hard job,” I admit, “but it’s also really cool to see little genetic things stand out that they couldn’t have been taught.”

“Like what specifically?” Ron asks curiously.

“I’ve noticed some of Trevor’s mannerisms in Ryan. He makes the same kind of faces when he’s feeling a certain way, which makes it easier for me to decode. You see this little, faded birthmark on his arm?” I raise Ryan’s shirt sleeve for Ron to see the mark.

“Oh yeah! I never noticed that.”

“I remember Trevor’s mother saying he had something like that when he was a baby. It was on his forehead or something like that, and eventually it faded as he became a toddler. It’s weird little things like that.”

Chef and Trevor burst back in through the door. “Alright, it’s been quite a day,” Trevor clasps his hands together. “Ron, why don’t you and Chef retire nextdoor for the night?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Ron says in a slightly somber way and gives me one last look.

Trevor waits for the two men to leave and then shuts the door to the trailer behind them. “Let’s make up a little bed for Ryan and then we can get to bed.” 

Trevor takes two of the chairs from the dining table and wedges the seat of them underneath the seat of the couch. Thus, creating a makeshift toddler bed. He folds up a blanket and places it on top of the couch cushions and adds a few extra pillows from the bedroom. I tuck Ryan into the covers and Trevor changes the channel on the tv to a child-friendly channel and leaves it on for noise and to help soothe Ryan to sleep. 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I watch Trevor pull the blankets up around Ryan and kiss him on the head. Then, he turns around to face me and leads me into the bedroom. He closes the curtain hanging in the threshold of the bedroom that acts as a door. I plop down onto the bed and Trevor follows suit.

His hand with the scorpion tattoo encloses over mine. “How are you holding up?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” I retort blankly. “I am tired from the road trip, but that’s all.”

“Are you ok being here?” 

“Yeah! In fact, I was telling Chef that it’s actually nice to be here. You’re not rushing off to tend to T.P.I. or anything business related,” I say to Trevor enthusiastically.

“Good,” he kisses me on the cheek and one of his hands rests on my thigh, sliding between my legs. A weird feeling forms in my stomach, but I try to brush it off. It increases dramatically when he goes to kiss my neck and I shudder. “Did I hurt you?” He asks, but I don’t answer. He didn’t, but I don’t know what to tell him. I’m just as lost as he is. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I’m not thinking with the right head. It’s too soon for that.”

“It’s ok,” I say shyly.

“I’m just so happy and relieved to have you back.” He whispers.

“I know,” I reply as I place my hand in his. He looks at me. “You know I want to, but Ryan is right out there and the bedroom door is just a shoddy piece of fabric. Maybe when we get home and we have the privacy of our bedroom, we can try again. Ok?”

“Yeah,” he forces a smile and internalizes the embarrassment of rejection.

* * *

_My vision is blurred as I open my eyes. His silhouette stands in front of me as I lay on the cold, hard concrete ground. He approaches me and I turn to the side, spitting out blood that pools in my mouth. He laughs._

_In his hand, a homemade ligature hangs at his side. He can do whatever he wants, I think to myself, it doesn’t matter to me. Disappearing behind me, he quickly puts the braided wire against my neck and pulls back towards himself as hard as he can. He yells my name. In an attempt to free myself, I jerk back and forth violently._

I’m shaking my head from side-to-side wildly.

“(Your name)?!” I hear Trevor’s voice call. “(Your name)?”

My eyes flit open and I’m overtaken by a coughing fit, as if it was actually happening to me. Trevor’s hand are on either of my arms and he’s looking at me with extreme concern. I take a moment to wake up a little more and get my bearings.

For a minute, I’m not sure where I am. Since Trevor is beside me, I’m not as scared as I would be if I were alone. Then, I remember that we drove up to Sandy Shores. I’m in the bedroom of the trailer. I lean over Trevor and check the time on his watch he placed on the nightstand. It’s 2:51 in the morning. 

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asks with a fearful look on his face.

“Yeah. Why?” I say calmly as I clear my throat, which is immensely sore. 

“You sounded like you were gasping for air in your sleep, which woke me up. You started clawing at your throat and kicking. I thought it was best to wake you up.”

I shrug. “It was just a dream.”

“It reminded me of the night terrors you got after North Yankton. If you remember, it took you awhile to get over those. If you need to talk to me about anything, you know I’m here. I don’t want this to turn out like that.” He assures me.

“It’s fine, Trevor. Go back to sleep,” I tell him. He slowly lays back down beside me, but I can tell we’re both wide awake now and staring at the ceiling. “When are we going back home?” 

“In a few days,” he says quietly, in a relaxed manner. “Maybe you and I should go somewhere alone after this.”

“What? And leave Ryan again? I know you think he won’t remember this, but I’m telling you it’s going to manifest somehow.” 

“Ok, well let me put it to you this way, what’s more important: staying home with our one-year-old son, who can’t even form full sentences, to ensure he doesn’t have any hard feelings in the future about staying with Michael and Amanda occasionally or your ability to function on a day-to-day basis after being held hostage and tortured in a warehouse for days on end?”

“You don’t always have to be a smart ass, you know.” I reply with an attitude.

“You don’t always have to be so fucking stubborn,” he giggles.

“Touché.” Pulling the covers up over me, I roll over with my back facing him.

* * *

I think Chef is the most concerned about me right now. Ron is nervous about everything anyway and Trevor is trying his best to treat me normally. Chef, however, is keeping a close eye on me and is not being very discreet about it. No one else seems to notice, but I don’t mind it. Everyone I know is pretty protective over me as it is.

However, the one thing I do mind is the implication that no one is sufficiently worried. Chef seems to think that he’s the only one that knows the extent of it all, and maybe he is because he could spot the injuries no one else could. Though he’s constantly watching me, it makes me feel like one move in the wrong way could cause me more severe damage and that Trevor isn’t properly concerned the way a husband should be.

Trevor walks back into the trailer, sliding his phone back in his pocket at the same time. He looks around at the motley crew in the main area of the trailer. We all look at him, like he’s the patriarch of the trailer. He reclaims his seat beside me on the couch and we all resume what we were doing before he walked in. Ryan reaches over from my lap to touch Trevor’s arm. They both look at each other happily and curiously.

“I made a few calls,” Trevor informs me. “We can be out of here tonight, stay at home overnight, drop Ryan off at Michael and Amanda’s in the morning, and then make our way to Chumash.”

“Why are we so back-and-forth between places all the time? We bought a house for a reason, Trevor. I want to settle down for right now. You said that we’re safe, so why are we still running like someone’s after us?” I ask tiredly and with annoyance.

“No one’s after us, at least to my knowledge. I’m just trying to do the best I can. I thought it’d be good for us to stay here for safety reasons, but now I think it’d be best if you were around as few people as possible.”

I scof, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“That was pretty straightforward. I think it was a mistake making you come here because it forces you to act like everything’s fine around Ron and Chef. Also, I’m not saying that you aren’t fit to take care of Ryan right now, but I think you need to slowly ease back into that after you’ve sorted through some stuff first.”

I hold Ryan closer to my chest, symbolically trying to tell Trevor I don’t want to let him go. I know he’s right though and I know what needs to happen. “Ok.” A tear rolls down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away before anyone notices. 

“It’s not permanent. We just need to focus on you right now.” He puts his arm around me to try to comfort me.

I stand up with Ryan in my arms. “If we’re leaving, then get our shit. I’ll meet you in the truck.”

Ron and Chef become aware of our conversation. “You guys are leaving? Why so soon?” Ron questions.

Trevor sighs and rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing against you guys. I just think it’s best if she gets a little alone time and that’s kind of impossible in this cramped trailer. She needs room.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Chef adds. “Tell me that you’ll be with her though.”

“Yeah, of course I’ll be with her. It’ll be just me and her.”

* * *

“Hey! I was surprised to get your call that you were coming home already.” Johnny says as he jumps off the couch. “Uh, did you forget Ryan or something?”

“No, we already dropped him off at Michael and Amanda’s. We were going to do that in the morning on our way to Chumash, but after much arguing during the cartrip home I managed to convince Trevor to just go ahead and drop him off. Why put off what can be done today, am I right?” I say sullenly as I wander into the backyard alone.

Everyone knows how frustrated I am right now. Even I’m well aware of it, but it’s like it’s happening against my will. I don’t want anyone to ask me what’s wrong because I still don’t have a good answer. My head is all over the place and it’s hard to focus on one thing. All I know is that I feel like I’m being smothered. 

It feels a lot like being a bug under a microscope, under constant observation. Our closest friends know what I endured during this past week and they’re all watching me closely, waiting for me to crack under pressure. Instead of doing things to help me, it feels like they’re just watching me carefully to avoid being the center of my my inevitable breakdown. 

I can tell that Johnny, Ron, and Chef were slightly uncomfortable to be around me. When we dropped Ryan off with Michael, he seemed slightly put off too. I just want to go back to living my life normally, but that’s extremely difficult when the only person that can stand to be around me is Trevor. It’s painful to feel like my closest friends abandoned me when I need them most.

“Here ya go,” Trevor hands me a cup of hot tea. He sits beside me on the lounge chair, as he usually does when I come out here to be alone. It slightly annoys me, but I need him.

“Thanks,” I say quietly and then take a sip. Tea has always been somewhat soothing to me and Trevor is using it to his advantage right now. I don’t mind that.

“I _really_ am trying my best here,” he begins. “I know I’m dragging you all over San Andreas, but there isn’t exactly a ‘How to: Dealing with Torture Trauma’ handbook for me to follow. I know you aren’t happy, but I’m trying to change that. If you want to, we can still go to Chumash or we can have Johnny stay with someone else so we have the house to ourselves.”

I rub my forehead. “I know, Trevor. We should just stick with the Chumash plan, and I want to stop discussing it.”

“I can feel you trying to shut the doors on me, and I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to be the pain in your ass that always has my foot wedged in the door.”

“Trust me, I know that too.” I roll my eyes.

“I don’t think you do,” he says coldly. “That’s why I’m reminding you that you can put off talking to me for now, but I am always going to be here to show you that I’m still waiting. Whatever it takes, (your name), whatever it takes.”

“Oh, are _you_ threatening me now?” Masking my anger, I force laughter.

“No, I’m just telling you that I’m not letting this turn into the whole North Yankton predicament. Take care of yourself!” 

“How am I supposed to do that if you’re always telling me what to do and where to go?!” I snap at him.

“How am _I_ supposed to help you when you shut me out and you’re so quick to anger?!” He yells back. “I thought we learned this lesson a long time ago that that’s not how it’s going to work!”

“Thing are different!” I get to my feet quickly and start pacing angrily in the backyard. I want to unload everything I’ve been keeping in, but it just doesn’t feel right. I storm back inside and, luckily, Johnny must’ve gone upstairs. 

Trevor storms in after me. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

“I just want to be alone and all you want to be is up my ass! Just give me thirty fucking minutes!” I run up the stairs and he remains at the bottom of them, watching me disappear into our bedroom and I slam the door shut.

It’s always my responsibility to keep things running smoothly. Everyone is used to Trevor being angry at the drop of a hat, but god forbid I have a bad day. Frustratedly, I sit on the edge of the bed. Maybe _I’m_ the one that was pretending every was ok for the past year. 

Fuck this! I’m allowed to have a bad day too! I’m allowed to be angry too! There’s an alarm clock on Trevor’s nightstand, and I pick it up and launch it across the room. It hits the wall and a piece of it breaks off when it hits the floor. It feels good, but it’s not enough in terms of release. 

I don’t want to be like Trevor and wreck the house though, so I let the rest of my anger fizzle out until I’m calm enough to think rationally again. The alarm clock and its broken piece find a new permanent home in the garbage can. I’m surprised Trevor didn’t hear it and come running upstairs, but maybe it’s a sign he heard me when I said I wanted to be alone. I let the allotted time of half an hour pass, and then I proceed downstairs.

Trevor is sitting on the couch, flipping through the tv channels with the remote. He hasn’t heard me yet, and I just watch him for a few minutes. I feel bad for having snapped at him. I’m fully aware of how much he’s trying to be there for me, but I can’t control these outbursts of anger. 

As I slowly approach the living room, my foot hits a dining room chair and he whips his head around. We make eye contact and I grab my stubbed toe in pain. I make my way over to the couch and Trevor tries to act like he’s completely unbothered by my outburst.

“Did you get your fill of ‘alone time’?” He asks sarcastically.

“Yeah,” I exhale loudly. “I think I’ve had my fill of it for a while because I do want to talk to you and get past this. I don’t want to keep fighting you.”

He looks at me with a deadpan expression. “Are you being serious?”

“Yes, and I think going to Chumash will be good for me. It’ll be good for _us_.” I smile at him.

“I think so too,” he smiles too. “I love you.”

I move closer to him so that my face is but inches away. “I love you too,” I whisper. He looks at me with confusion as I lean in to kiss him, but he isn’t about to object to it. This is the first time we’ve _really_ kissed since I’ve been home. 

Before, I was scared of the feelings I now feel when Trevor tries to initiate a kiss. This makes me realize how much I miss being affectionate with him, but I still need to take things slow. He doesn’t fully understand yet, but the time to open up to him is getting closer and closer. As scared as I am for that, I know it’s going to be a step in the right direction.


	14. Match Point

Trevor and I run inside the beach house, and he playfully chases me up the stairs. He catches up with me as we run into the bedroom and he tackles me onto the bed. I’m laughing hysterically as he looks down at me with a proud smile on his face. He plants a tender, passionate kiss on my lips. My face goes hot as I blush, which is motivation for him, so he kisses me again.

His body slides on top of mine and that same feeling I got in Sandy Shores comes back. Again, I try to brush it off and just enjoy this beautiful moment with my husband. One of his hands slides up my leg, and moves up my dress. When he begins to slide his hand into my underwear, I quickly grab his wrist and he stops dead in his tracks.

“Your face just went pale and your eyes got crazy big,” he laughs softly. His amusement fades when he sees that I’m not smiling and laughing along with him. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” I answer unconvincingly. I tap his shoulder and he moves to the side, allowing me to sit up. As I do so, I pull my dress back down and straighten it out. “I just…” The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t want to say them to him.

“You just what?” He repeats, urging me to continue.

“I just don’t want to be touched like that.” It comes out quietly and I hope he doesn’t hear me, and it just sort of fades into the air.

“You enjoyed it about two weeks ago in the bathroom at home,” he teases, thinking this is all a joke.

I look behind myself, over my shoulder at him laying across the bed. He sees how serious my expression is. “I’m not playing around,” I say blankly.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” 

He clearly feels like an asshole now, and I feel even worse for making him feel that way. This attitude I have about intimacy is not going to work forever. After all, I’m married to Trevor Philips: the horniest man on the planet. It’s already taking a toll on our marriage. Both of us are a little grumpier than usual, and he has the urge to put his hands all over me more and more. I can see it in his eyes that he’s beginning to feel like a caged animal. If only he knew how repressed I feel.

Luckily, I don’t think he’s caught on to my non-existent drive. That would prompt the conversation I’ve been dreading, but it’s going to have to happen. I owe it to him and myself to talk about what all happened in that warehouse. At this point, I’m just scared that it won’t be as cathartic to tell him as I’m hoping it will be.

My anger alone is enough to deal with and I’m not ready to have to help Trevor with his. He doesn’t seem to care about that though. I’ve been his sole focus since I’ve been back home, and that doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon. If I’m going to tell him, this will probably be the time to tell him while we’re alone. I just don’t know if I’m quite there yet.

“Well,” he sighs, “what do you want to do?”

“Now that the sun is going down, a walk on the beach sounds nice.” I suggest.

“That does sound nice.” Trevor agrees.

He waits for me to change my shoes so I can walk on the sand successfully, and when I see that I neglected to pack appropriate beach footwear, I decide to just go shoeless. Trevor seconds that idea and begins to loosen the laces on his boots and then peels off his socks. We run down the stairs again together like children on Christmas morning, and out the back sliding glass doors.

Things have already changed in a better direction. Trevor and I are running around and having fun like old times, but there is _still_ a part of me that feels like I might not be as authentic as I’m acting. I fucking hate that feeling because I just want to enjoy the present moment while it’s here. I just hope that Trevor doesn’t pick up on any of this. I want to continue to see him happy and not worrying so much about me. Worrying isn’t good for either of us.

“You seem a lot happier now that it’s just the two of us,” he says.

“I am,” I smile affirmatively at him. “You were right when you said I felt like I had to keep things together around everyone else. I do miss our son already, but I do need a vacation for myself after last week. Besides, you know that you’ve always been the person I’ve been most comfortable around. I don’t have to pretend to be anything for you.”

“It wouldn’t make much sense for me to be any other way considering my track record,” he jokes. “We’re two square pegs in the round hole of the world.”

He holds my hand as we stroll on the beach. We ironically stop around the area he proposed to me, and take a seat in the cool sand. I dig my toes into it and watch the tide crash against the shore and ebb back out. The water knows exactly how it feels inside my head.

“I still haven’t reached that point of total divulgence, but I think it’s time to talk.” Out of my peripherals, he looks at me excitedly. 

“I told you that you don’t have to tell me everything at once.” Trevor says, trying to contain his happiness at my change of heart.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to talk about.”

“What are you so scared of?” He asks me plainly.

That question hits me hard. I hug my knees to my chest in an effort to protect myself from everything I’m feeling. The tears are already welling up in my eyes and I bury my face in my knees. Trevor’s arm slowly wraps around my shoulders and I flinch at the unexpected touch. 

This time I fight past it and let myself fall apart, just like what Trevor wanted me to do. I straighten my legs back out and rest my head on his shoulder. The way he slowly wraps the other arm around lets me know that he’s just as surprised as I am at my relinquishment. Once it’s around me, he holds me close to him and lets me cry without a bombardment of questions.

Once I’m calm enough to speak, I tell him, “I’ve been scared to admit to myself what I’m actually scared of once the truth comes out.”

“What would that be?” He asks calmly, his voice vibrating in his chest.

“I’m scared that it’s going to be the end of us,” I admit as I wipe a tear from my cheek before it bleeds into his t-shirt.

He takes a deep breath in and lets it out, signaling the weight of anxiety my statement is now causing him. His grip on me tightens. “I knew the night I walked you home when I first met you that you were something special. You know I was a bit of a drifter, so I convinced myself I could never have you. I’d always be here one moment and gone the next, but not with you. When everything fell into place for us, I knew I’d never let that go. The same still stands after all these years. How could you ever think that I’d leave?”

“Fear isn’t rational, Trevor.” I sniffle. “They really broke me down. I’m not the same person I was before all of this happened. The real fear is that you’re not going to want to adjust to the new me or I’m going to be too much for you now.”

“Have you met me?” He says sarcastically. “I’m the one that should be worried because I _know_ I’m a lot to handle. That’s the weird thing about love though; it makes you tolerate a lot more than you think you would.” He gives my shoulders a squeeze and smiles. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here by your side. _Always_.”

“Deep down, I know that. I’ve just been so confused about everything and it’s like having to relearn how to live my life normally after what I went through.”

“Well,”he exhales, “that’s because you are. I know you’re not going to be the same, but that doesn’t mean what you went through changes the essence of you. You’re still the same amazing person I fell in love with. We’re going to get through this together, as a team.” He smiles.

* * *

“Alright,” Trevor says as he shuts the cabinets he was rifling through in the kitchen, “there’s officially no food in here. We’re going to have to go to the store or get takeout somewhere.”

“Let’s just do takeout. I don’t feel like cooking, and as much as I love your cooking I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you.” I tease him.

“Ha-ha, very funny. I think I’m a great cook.”

“I know, and that’s the problem,” I laugh. “Anyway, I think I’m going to hang back if you don’t mind.”

His face goes emotionless. “Are you sure? You haven’t been alone since…” he trails off.

“I’m going to have to be alone sometime. I think it’s better to practice here before we go home.”

“Ok, then. What do you want me to pick up?” He uncomfortably places his hands on his hips.

“You know I’m a cheap date,” I smirk. “There’s a Burger Shot down the road.”

“On it,” he says and then gives me a kiss goodbye before heading out the door.

The truck sounds like a muffled pur as it leaves the driveway. This gives me ten to fifteen minutes to myself. That’s ten to fifteen minutes I desperately need. It’s not like I’m perfectly comfortable alone or wishing that Trevor would leave me alone, it’s just that I feel like I can’t process anything or completely shut my thoughts off with someone constantly watching me. 

_Silence at last._ I tiptoe upstairs guiltily, even though Trevor isn’t here. My bag is sitting, lopsided, on the floor in the master bedroom. Gingerly, I plunge my hand into it and fish around until I feel the thin cardboard carton I’m longing for. As I step out onto the balcony, I pull a single cigarette from the carton. Leaning against the railing and gazing out at the vast ocean, I light it and take a heavy drag.

Trevor would be throwing an absolute hissy fit if he knew I was smoking. He goes on and on, ragging me or Michael about how they cause cancer, but yet it’s completely fine in his mind to smoke meth. _Right. Ok, Trevor._ Besides, I haven’t done so in years, but I think I’ve earned it. 

There’s a deck chair behind me and I take a seat on it. It’s calming and oddly freeing in a way to watch the smoke dissipate as it leaves my lips. Sometimes, I wish I could do the same. I take a look up into the sky as I shift my focus off the smoke that drifted off into it. It’s an abyss of oranges and pinks. 

“I don’t know why I’m talking to you right now because I don’t necessarily believe you can hear me,” I say apathetically. “I guess I just need to talk to someone right now that won’t talk back. I don’t want anyone else to force their opinion down my throat, so you’ll do. Plus, it’s been a long time since we’ve spoken. For that, I’m sorry.”

I shift in my seat in an attempt to get more comfortable for this short, one-sided chat. “There are a couple things I want to get off my chest for the purpose of closure. That’s a very important concept to me because I’ve gotten very little of it in my life, and I will never fully get it from you because you’re no longer here. First, I forgive you for how you treated me sometimes because I know it wasn’t really you who did and said all those things to me. It doesn’t serve me or anyone in my life to be angry at you. Second, I’m somewhat grateful for the way you were because it primed me to be able to tolerate a lot of, for lack of a better word, shit.Third, I don’t regret picking a life with Trevor over being miserable for the sake of keeping in contact with you. Fourth, there are sometimes I wish I could pick up the phone and call you. Fifth and finally, I think you would’ve been a wonderful grandmother. I’m happy, and I hope you’re happy too wherever you are.” 

I take one final drag on my cigarette and extinguish it on the arm of the chair. It plummets down to the sand as I flick it over the balcony. Feeling somewhat like a weight has been lifted off of me, I go back inside and change my clothes so Trevor doesn’t smell the smoke on me. Then, I tuck the carton back into my bag until the next major stressor. 

The front door opens and I eagerly run down the stairs to meet Trevor. We convene at the dining table and he removes all the contents of the white paper bag he brought home. Silently, we shovel food into our mouths. That is, until the silence allows my mind to ponder.

“Don’t you ever feel like you’re not being true to yourself when you come home to a mansion? Doesn’t that ever feel wrong to you?” I ask him curiously.

He gives me a look of confusion and says with his mouth full, “What do you mean?”

“Do you sometimes feel like you’re living someone else’s life?”

He thinks about it for a second. “Sometimes it feels like there’s nowhere to go but downhill. We’ve already achieved everything we’ve wanted.”

“It’s hard to describe and it has only happened within this past month. I just kind of feel _disjointed_.”

“Well,” he scoffs, “you’ve been through kind of a lot this month. You’re smiling and laughing more, so I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“I guess,” I try to say convincingly.

* * *

Just like the first night we spent at my dad’s house, Trevor and I lay awake in silence. My back is to him, so he probably thinks I’m asleep. I want to say something to him, but I’m not quite sure where to start. Besides, I kind of like the silence and disturbing it will guarantee that I won’t get to sleep soon. I decide to take that chance.

Rolling over, I look at him and he looks at me with surprise. “Can’t get to sleep either?”

“Unfortunately,” I groan. 

“That’s not necessarily an unfortunate thing.” He replies with mischievousness and turns on his side so he can face me.

In the darkness of the bedroom, I can still see the smirk on his face. Trevor leans in and kisses me, and I make the mistake of letting him because he takes it as an invitation to proceed. I really wish he would stop because it breaks my heart to see the look on his face after I’ve rejected his advances. So, I place my hand on his chest and push just enough so that he gets the idea without me uttering a word.

He still has that same look on his face. I should’ve known. Three weeks ago, I would’ve gladly taken him up on all his offers. That’s how we used to pass the time and wear ourselves out when we couldn’t get to sleep. Now I’m forcing him to also relearn how to live our life together too. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers.

“I don’t know. I just-”

He cuts me off. “I’m sorry if I did something.”

“No, no! You didn’t do anything. I promise.” I assure him.

“Look, if you’re into something specific, you can tell me.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure this out and the only thing that’s coming to mind is that you discovered you like things a little rougher after, well, you know, and you’re embarrassed to tell me. You said you were scared to talk to me about whatever happened because you thought it’d change my opinion of you. So, that’s what I could come up with from the small pieces of information you’re giving me.” He says honestly.

I sit up in bed and rub my forehead. “Jesus, Trevor. No. That was probably the worst week of my life and it was completely void of any ‘awakening’, I assure you. In fact, I don’t think I can wear bracelets for a while because they feel too restrictive.”

“As your partner, the person who knows what your sexual appetite was before, I feel like it’s warranted for me to ask for an explanation. If for no other reason, I’m asking you to just be honest with me when I ask if you’re ok.” 

“So now I’m a liar _and_ I owe you an explanation?!” I quickly get out of the bed and face him angrily. “I don’t owe _you_ **anything**!”

“I never said you were a liar, but you’re barely telling me anything! I think I do deserve some explanation as to why you’ve changed the rules about shutting each other out to benefit you!”

“Well, guess what! This is _my_ body, which means I can do whatever the fuck I want with it! I can think what I want to think, I can go where I want to go, and I can tell you what I choose to tell you!” My entire body is shaking, and I intend to finish and win this fight. I just hope I can do that before I pass out because I feel like I’m getting there. I just become aware of the sweat that slides down my face.

“You know what?” He says eerily calm. “Back in Sandy Shores, Chef told me that you should probably see a therapist and I think he’s right.”

“Why? Is it because you’re not getting fucked, so I must need to be fixed? I’m sleeping on the couch.” I yank my pillow off the bed and slam the bedroom door shut as I leave.

* * *

I awaken abruptly to a weight shift on the couch. Trevor is sitting next to me with his hand on my arm. Sunlight is streaming into the living room and my eyes have a rough time adjusting because of it. He purses his lips as he rubs my arm. Good. At least I know he feels bad.

“We need to talk, and I need you to be on the same page if we’re going to make any progress.” He says. “I don’t think you’re broken or that you need fixing. This isn’t about what we’re doing or not doing. This is about you feeling safe again and learning how to manage your thoughts and feelings from a professional. We were lucky to get through all the shit from North Yankton, but this is something new and I don’t think we can do it ourselves again.”

I reach for his hand and hold it tightly. “I know.”

“I think we should call Michael and ask him to ask his therapist for a recommendation.”

“That guy,” I roll my eyes and groan. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Don’t you remember the group session we had with Michael?”

“I’m not asking you to see off-brand Bob Ross; I just want a recommendation from him for someone that specializes in post-trauma.”

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day when Trevor Philips tells _me_ that _I_ need to go to therapy,” I laugh.

That makes him smile. “Going to that session with Michael opened my mind a bit. Plus, I think you’d be more comfortable talking it out with a therapist first. It’s a lot of pressure for you to come clean to me first, and I get that.”

“Alright,” I roll my eyes. “I’ll call Michael.” Trevor hands me my phone readily and my jaw drops. “You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“I know.” He smiles widely. “I’ll give you some privacy.” He steps out onto the back deck.

As fate would have it, my phone begins to vibrate in my hand. Expecting it to be Michael, I take a brief glance at the screen to hit the green icon. However, it’s not Michael. It’s not even a number I have plugged into my phone, but it’s a Los Santos area code. I hesitate to answer it, but decide to anyway.

“Hello?” I say quietly.

“Hi, (your name)! It’s Ivy. I hope you don’t mind me calling you. Floyd gave me your number and said we should schedule a day for just you and me to get to know each other before we get deep into wedding planning.” She sounds somewhat nervous.

“Oh, hi! Yes, it’s absolutely fine! Um, I was going to call him anyway to, uh, see if you two had settled on a guest list.” I try to make it seem like everything has been completely normal since we had dinner with her and Floyd. 

“Not yet, but I’d say it’s 80% there. I’ll have it for you in a week probably!”

“Ok. Don’t worry, there’s no pressure! We have plenty of time. So, I don’t exactly have my schedule right in front of me, but the middle of next month is undoubtedly free. Let’s just say on Friday two weeks from now?”

“Sounds perfect! I’ll text you the details when I have a solid plan.”

“Alright, talk to you soon!”

_Whew._ Before I forget, I plug her number in my phone. I don’t need that anxiety again. I also completely forgot about the responsibility of planning their wedding. I also don’t need that stress right now, but I can’t decline at this point and I don’t feel like explaining to them why I might need some slack. So, it’s time to suck it up and take it all head-on.

With my phone in hand, I wander into the bathroom and shut the door. I put down the toilet seat cover and sit on it while I call Michael. It rings a few times and I begin to feel like he might not pick up. He hasn’t really made an effort to see me or talk to me since the day the guys came to my rescue. 

“Hey. How ya feelin’?” He says monotonously. 

“I’ve been better,” I sigh.

“I wanted to apologize. I know what you must be thinking: that we’re all avoiding you. That’s not the case. I just know that what happened to you was really heavy and I thought it was best that you have some time to think. Before you ask, Amanda still doesn’t know. I just told her that you and T are on a much needed vacation and not to annoy either of you. Ryan is doing really well. Tracey loves him to death.”

“Well, thank you for the full report!” I joke. “I’m not calling to confront you on your aloofness or get an apology, although I accept it. I called to ask you for a big favor.”

“Anything for you. Whatcha got?”

“I’d really appreciate it if,” I take a deep breath in, “you could ask your therapist for a recommendation.”

“That’s easy enough. Done,” he says reassuringly. “I know you probably hate this question by now, but are you doing ok?”

“Yes and no,” I exhale audibly. Trevor wants answers and I can’t give them to him because I don’t have any. He says I’m smiling more though. I’m having a bit of an adjustment issue to reality. That’s all.”

“Well that’s all normal and to be expected after what happened. I have to say I’m pretty shocked to hear you want to go to therapy. It’s always a good decision though.”

“Apparently, a friend of ours from Sandy Shores suggested it to Trevor, but he didn’t tell me that until we were in the middle of a fight. Trevor liked the idea, so I’m calling. He’s right and I know that, but it’s annoying.” I reply with agitation.

Michael laughs. “Been there, done that! It sounds cliché, but it really does get better. I’ll get that recommendation for you.”

“Thanks, Mikey.” I smile to myself.

Trevor has wandered back into the living room and is sitting on the couch, waiting for me, when I walk back into the room. “Hey! I was wondering where you went.”

“I called Michael and he said he could get the recommendation. I also got a surprise call from Ivy. I completely forgot about the wedding.”

His eyebrows raise. “To be honest, so did I. Are you sure you’re still up for that?”

“Yeah, I think so. If I start therapy soon and have it coincide with planning their wedding, I think I can pull it off without killing myself.” I scoff.

Trevor smiles. “You’ll do great. Come here.” I sit next to him on the couch. “I have a surprise for you.”

“When have you had time to coordinate a surprise?” 

“I have my ways.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to me.

I give him a look of suspicion and carefully unfold it. “You didn’t!” I say excitedly.

“I did,” he smirks wildly.

“This beach house is officially _ours_?!”

He nods and I practically leap across the couch to hug him, causing him to fall back onto the couch. Before I know it, I’m kissing him and I realize how unfair that is. I get off of him and neatly sit beside him on the couch again. 

“If I knew that’s what it would take, I would’ve done that sooner.” Trevor says jokingly.

“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m leading you on.”

“It’s ok,” he says softly and puts his arm around me. “I don’t care how long we wait. Only when you’re ready.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll believe that until we have another fight similar to the one we had last night.”

“Hey, you know I’m a man of my word. I’ve never forced you to do anything you don’t want to do and that’s not about to change. I’m also not going to stoop to Michael’s level; I know that thought is swimming around in that pretty little head of yours. I love you and I’d never do that to us.”

I smile at him. “I know that.”


	15. Peripheral

“It’ll be ok. It’s only an hour. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get out.” Trevor tries to console me.

I take a deep breath in. “Alright, I’m going. When you get home, you’re going to have to give Ryan lunch. I only gave him breakfast.” We share a brief kiss goodbye.

Swiftly, I get out of the truck and with a quick spin I slam the door shut behind me. I clutch my bag nervously and approach the big modern glass doors. They’re heavy, which makes me more nervous somehow. As I enter the waiting room, there’s a man sitting in a chair, reading a magazine. He looks at least fifteen years older than me. I can tell he’s been crying from his red eyes and nose and by the wadded tissue in his hand.

“Hi there,” the receptionist says, startling me slightly. “You must be the new client. Every time you come here, you’ll sign in on this sheet.” She taps the end of a pen on the clipboard with a bunch of grids on it. “When you’ve signed in, you can take a seat anywhere and just wait for your name to be called, just like the doctor’s office.” She smiles as if to make me feel more comfortable by relating it to a familiar experience, but comparing it to the doctor’s just makes my anxiety worse. Well, I guess I’m in the right place for that.

I take the cold metal pen in my hand. There are four rows: one for the date, one for my name, one for the check-in time, and one for the check-out time. In the respective blanks, I fill in May 25th, (Your name) Philips, 1:36 p.m., and I leave the last cell empty until my departure. Like the receptionist suggested, I take a seat on a couch adjacent to the man. 

A tall woman with lightly tanned skin and short, shoulder length light brown hair steps through a doorway off to the side and a teenage girl walks out with her. They share a brief, pleasant exchange and the teenage girl approaches the front desk to sign out. My attention refocuses on the woman, who is wearing a well-fitted gray pencil skirt, a white blouse neatly tucked into it, and a gray blazer that matches the skirt. She wears semi-opaque stockings, which is an odd fashion choice even for today’s professional, but she wears them well. Next, my eyes fall onto the black pointed toe high heels she’s wearing. 

Usually I don’t pick up so much on what people wear, but she’s so well-tailored that she doesn’t even seem like a real person. Is this what real therapists look like? She looks like something out of a movie. She smiles at the man and calls his name. He stands quickly, and follows her into the office.

Anxiously, I cross my legs and begin to tap my foot. Seeing the model of a woman that’s about to tear apart my psyche makes me even more nervous. I check the time on Trevor’s watch that I borrowed for the day. I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt a little more in control during controlless moments if I have access to the time. As comforting as wearing his watch is to me, it’s the same watch he had when he was going into the Airforce and it’s quite dated. Thus, clashing with my outfit and immediately classifying me as less competent than my prim-and-proper therapist.

Anyway, I have an hour to kill before my appointed time. So, I dig my phone out of my bag and text the first few recently contacted people in hopes of conversing the nerves away. Trevor and Johnny get a half-assed, anxiety-fueled text from me. When both of them fail to reply promptly, I nervously start tapping my foot again. Then suddenly, my phone’s text tone goes off and the receptionist gives me a slightly displeased look. I mouth the word “sorry” to her, but I immediately get another text before frantically switching it to vibrate. She gives me an even more annoyed look. Jesus christ. Is this how Ron feels on a daily basis? I open my phone and see these messages:

Johnny: I can feel the nervous energy through your texts! Ha!

Johnny: Remember, deep breaths.

Johnny, who thinks he’s so funny, simply gets the middle finger emoji to which he replies with a crying-laughing emoji. Eventually, Trevor texts me back, signaling that he made it back home. He sends me a picture of him and Ryan, who is smiling happily in his high chair.

Me: Aw, don’t do that to me! I’d much rather be there.

Trevor: U’ll b fine. Gonna feed little man really quick. Keep me posted.

And just like that, I’m forced to entertain myself again. Trevor and Johnny are purposely being brief because Trevor wants me to fully immerse myself in this experience, and I know he must have told Johnny to let me work through my nervousness on my own. Surprisingly, an hour goes by faster than expected when your thoughts are racing.

The same beautiful woman from before emerges from her office with the man, who is crying again. He dabs at his eyes with the tissue in his hand and goes to sign out. The woman looks at me and her posture relaxes somewhat. “(Your name) Philips?” She smiles.

“That’d be me,” I laugh nervously. 

“Come on in,” she gestures fluidly. “I love your dress by the way.”

“Oh, thank you.” I step inside the office and she shuts the door behind us. 

As if her superb taste in fashion wasn’t enough, her office only amplified her sense of style. Her desk is a glass top with silver metal legs, and there are stacks of the latest psychology journals next to ehr computer and an exotic looking plant sitting to one side. Floor-to-ceiling windows backlight her chair that she takes a seat in. There’s a matching one right across from her. They’re essentially gray cushions that are shaped like an armchair with a modern silver frame. 

“Please, take a seat,” she motions to the chair across from hers. I stop admiring her office and take the seat across from her. She looks at me for a few seconds. “My name is Dr. Elizabeth Marsden. You can call me Elizabeth, Liz, Dr. Marsden; whatever you prefer. Let’s start by talking a little bit about why you decided to come here.”

“Honestly, my husband and I had a fight a few weeks ago and it just sort of came out that he thought it was a good idea. As much as it hurt to hear and admit, he’s right.” I shrug.

“What makes you think that?” She asks curiously.

The feeling of being interrogated by someone whose job it is to do that is beginning to become apparent. “I had what we described as PTSD about ten years ago. I’m not saying it ever went away, but it was at its worst the first few years after the event that caused it. About a month ago, I went through something, well, traumatic again. We’re all worried that it might be coming back and worse than ever.”

“Well, let’s take a look. Shall we?” She gets up from her chair and saunters over to the bookcase behind her desk. She retrieves a small book and sits back down in her chair across from me, flipping through several pages at a time until she settles on one. There’s a pair of glasses on the end table beside her, and she puts them on. “Did the event involve threats of serious injury or death?”

“Yes,” I answer without missing a beat.

“Ok, I want you to answer for the first event you mentioned and then the most recent one.”

“My answer is still yes to both.” I reply.

“Did these events involve intense feelings of fear and helplessness?”

“Yes to both again.” I interlock my fingers and place them in my lap stiffly.

“I’m going to name a list of symptoms and I want you to pick out which ones you feel fit you personally: intrusive and/or distressing recollections of the event, distressing dreams of the event, reliving the event, triggers, and a physical reaction to triggers.” She looks up at me from the top of her glasses.

“All of those apply, more or less, to both events.”

“Avoidance of triggers or the inability to remember certain aspects of the event?” 

“Yes to both for the avoidance of triggers, but I remember every aspect of both events.”

“Diminished interest in previously enjoyed activities, feeling detached or estranged, restricted range of affect, diminished sense of future?”

“The feelings of detachment, they’ve been most prevalent lately. Everything else fits, but not as much.”

“Difficulty falling or staying asleep, irritability, difficulty concentrating, or hypersensitivity?”

“Again, yes to all for both events.”

The book makes a loud pop as she closes it and sets it on the end table beside her along with her glasses. “I’m going to go with whoever diagnosed you the first time hit the nail on the head.”

“Actually, I was never officially diagnosed before. My husband and I have a friend that briefly attended medical school, and he’s the one who suggested it might be PTSD the first time.”

“He’s very right. I don’t want to scare you, but I’ve never had a patient with PTSD that said yes to that many of the symptoms, and not to mention for two separate events. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re sitting in front of me so put together. You must be one hell of a tough cookie.” She smiles warmly.

“My husband says that all the time.” I can’t help but smile too.

“Do you believe him?”

“Yeah, for the most part, because I know I’ve been through a lot. It feels a lot better coming from you though.” I force a giggle.

“I’m glad that you acknowledge when he says that. Now, have you ever been to therapy before?”

“Yes, actually. I went once when I was a teenager and I’ve sat in during a session with a friend and his therapist.” 

“Do you feel comfortable telling me what led you to your decision to attend therapy when you were younger?” She asks sensitively.

“Yeah, it’s ok. I had a little bit of a rough time growing up with my mother and she thought it would fix our relationship if _I_ was the one to go to therapy. I only went for a few sessions because I was an angsty teenager that didn’t want to talk to a professional and we both actually agreed it was a waste of time when it came to me and my mother’s relationship.”

“How so?”

“That was fast,” I smirk. “We’re already getting into the stereotypical talk of how my mother ruined my life. I just want to let you know, before we get deeply into that, that she did the best she could and when I finally hit my limit of her toxicity, I left to pursue bigger and better things. She’s part of the reason I’m the woman I am today, and I’m proud of that.”

Dr. Marsden nods understandingly. “You’ve just told me a lot about your relationship with her just by that. She must’ve done something to make her the center of attention in the household, and that always made you feel like you had to take the backseat. You grew up thinking your feelings didn’t matter. I’m also going to guess that someone or something made you feel like it could’ve been a lot worse, so you bury your anger about your mother and tell yourself that what she did was excusable.”

Silently, I sit across from her and just stare into her eyes. Trevor has always been able to read me like a book, but I’ve never had someone see right through me like this and it’s painful. “If it could’ve been a lot worse, then isn’t it excusable?” 

“Not if it harbored thoughts of irrelevancy about yourself while still being young and needing your mother to raise you. Obviously, it had a lasting impact on you and continued into adulthood. It’s ok to be angry at her and say that she messed up. Mothers do that, and I guarantee that she knew she did. Even if it could’ve been worse, that doesn’t invalidate the fact that there was a point in time that your mother wronged you.”

I let her words soak in for a minute. “My mother was an alcoholic. It was impossible to get her to see that because she functioned relatively well. She got up early, went out with friends, attended city council meetings and dinners, and was a small-town trophy wife from a prestigious family. What no one knew is that when she was driving home for the day, she would take a couple of those mini bottles of whiskey or vodka and chug them before she stepped into the house. She had other stashes of standard-sized bottles around the house and snuck drinks here and there all night, but it was so obvious that she was trashed. I don’t know how she thought she hid it from me.”

“What’s your theory on why she drank?”

“I don’t have to have a theory. I know exactly why. It runs in the family. Her mother was a heavy drinker too and mom used to tell me, before she herself started drinking, that her mother was particularly tough on her. She felt that pressure her entire life and never felt good enough. That only got worse when she fell in love with my dad, who was from a lower middle class family. My mother’s family didn’t approve of him because of that. But as things complicate themselves as they so often do, my father knocked her up their sophomore year of college and they eloped. My father still doesn’t know that I know that, and I don’t intend to confront him about it. I found a copy of their marriage license and noticed the date was seven months before I was born. My mother basically felt like she could’ve done better for herself, but didn’t know how to deal with that. So, she chose not to.” I relay to Dr. Marsden blankly.

“Do you ever feel like that?” She asks.

“Of course! Everyone must feel like that at some point, but the difference is knowing what to do with that feeling. My parents grew up in a different time though. If you felt something like that, you didn’t talk about it back then. I know that because dad was completely in denial that mom had a problem and he refuses to talk about it now. Neither one of them knew what to do.”

“And neither did you, but you at least wanted to bring it to light. When your attempts at doing so were met with rejection over and over, that taught you to basically sit down, be quiet, mind your own business, and be grateful for what you _did_ have. That wasn’t fair to you and that’s never been acknowledged. With patients that grew up around alcoholism, I usually hear about cases of abuse as well. Was there anything like that going on in the home?” 

“Not really. My mom tried to wrestle me one time when she was drunk and thought I was getting aggressive with her when I grabbed her arm to prevent her from losing her balance. Sometimes she said things she shouldn’t have said, but everyone does that.”

“You don’t have to cover for her by saying ‘everyone does that’. Everyone shouldn’t do ‘that’ and that’s the point. It absolutely matters that she said those things to you. I’ve also noticed you refer to her in the past tense.” Dr. Marsden notes.

“She passed away from cancer about five years ago. I wasn’t in contact with my parents when she passed.” I tell her with a slight feeling of guilt.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m assuming that when you mentioned you moved out when you were a teenager, you cut ties with them until recently. Could you elaborate on that?”

“Oh boy,” I sigh and laugh nervously.

She looks at me with a surprised, but intrigued look. “Why that reaction?”

“Look,” I start hesitantly, “I’m here to get better and move past not only the most recent event in my life, but everything that’s happened to me that I still haven’t worked through. In order to do that, I need to be completely honest with you and have full disclosure. So, are you legally obligated to go to the police if I discuss past crimes I’ve committed?”

“I’m only legally obligated to notify the authorities if you pose as a danger to yourself or others, so no.” She recites nonjudgmentally.

“Alright, so it all starts with Trevor. He’s my wonderful, loving husband. We met when we were in our late teens, and at a time in my life that I needed someone like him. He was strong, brave, and confident. I guess I felt like I lacked those things at that time. Anyway, we met because he knocked out this guy that was harassing me.” I fully intend on completing the story, but it’s like I stop against my voice’s will. Out of nowhere, I start crying.

Dr. Marsden grabs the box of tissues off the mid-century modern coffee table between us and holds the box out to me. I take one and wipe the tears off my cheeks. “Was that a particularly traumatic moment for you?” She asks in a soft tone.

“No,” I try to speak while being choked up. “It wasn’t traumatic at all. I don’t know why I’m crying. This happens all the time now; I just cry for no good reason!”

“There’s no need to be angry over feeling emotion. It’s perfectly ok to cry.”

“I know, but it’s just annoying when it happens at the drop of a hat!”

“Well,” she begins, “are you possibly pregnant?” 

I roll my eyes and scoff. “There’s no way. My husband and I haven’t had sex for about a month, and he won’t let me forget that. That’s like ten years for us.”

“I’m going to ask you a very uncomfortable question, but we need to keep realistic. Did this recent traumatic event involve non-consensual sex?” 

“No, and I know I’m not pregnant! I’ve had one child and this, in an odd and indescribable way, doesn’t feel anything like the random hormonal crying of pregnancy.”

“Spasmodic crying isn’t an uncommon symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I just wanted to cover all of our bases. I think it’s best that we take a break from discussing how you met your husband for a little bit. Let’s continue with what you just mentioned about him.”

“There’s not much else to discuss. He wants to screw like rabbits and I don’t. I’ve never turned him down before because I used to enjoy it just as much as him, but I just haven’t been in the mood.” I tell her matter-of-factly.

“Why do you think that is?”

I shake my head and shrug, trying to think. “What happened to me recently. It just feels too soon.”

“Is it too soon or do you not know how to tell him your real feelings about it?” She poses it as a question, but she already knows the answer.

“I _can’t_ tell him how I feel about it.”

“Why is that?” She wonders.

“Because this man has done _everything_ for me and loves me more than anything. Sex is the most basic way for him to show me that, and he speaks through actions better anyway. It’ll break his heart if I tell him the truth.”

“What is the truth, (your name)?” She inquires.

I exhale audibly. “I’m scared that I’m not going to be able to enjoy it anymore because it might make me feel trapped. I’m having a hard time feeling free and independent, and sex is a very mutually involved activity. I’m scared of it feeling like an obligation now. I'm scared of feeling nothing.”

“You just said that sex is your husband showing you that he loves you.” She reminds me.

“I know,” I say with agitation and look at my hands as I anxiously pick at one of my nails. I look back up to her, and she’s casually waiting for me to continue when I’m ready. “This last trauma,” I begin, “it involved a lot of complicated facets. A lot of unforgivable things were done to me, but the most troubling one is that a man put his hands on me, wherever he wanted. I’m not a super private person and I’ve had my privacy invaded multiple times throughout my life, but not like that. I try not to think about it and tell myself what I always do: it could’ve been worse. Now, I won’t even let my husband touch me because I just feel that other son of a bitch’s hands on me all over again.”

“You’re very brave,” Marsden purses her lips. “We don’t have to discuss the events that have occurred if it brings you emotional distress, but instead we should focus on relieving the reactions to those events. My advice to you is to start small and only step outside your comfort zone as much as you can.”

Trevor’s watch beeps, signaling that it has reached an hour. My time with Marsden is up. I stand and so does she. “You sure have your work cut out for you.” I tell her as I excuse myself from her office. 

Tears are already threatening to escape the waterlines of my eyes. As quickly as I can manage, I sign out on the clipboard and leave the building. Trevor isn’t here yet, but I can’t stand to be near the building. So, I just keep walking and the tears finally escape. I stop in the middle of the parking lot and try to wipe them away on the sleeve of my dress, but it’s no use. I just start sobbing and bawling my eyes out, not giving a fuck about how insane I must look. I get lower to the ground in an attempt to physically ball up the way I feel inside, and in the middle of the parking lot. 

The rumble of the truck’s engine gets closer and closer. It stops and it’s engine shuts off. The door slams closed and bootsteps approach me quickly. Trevor’s hand rests on my back. “(Your name)?! Are you ok? What happened? Do I need to go in there and give someone a piece of my mind?!”

“No! No!” I unbury my face from my hands and look at him, which causes his expression to sadden. Then, I throw my arms around his neck. “You’re the first person that has made me feel like I matter,” I sob into his shoulder.

“Hey, that’s not true,” he says sweetly. “What about your parents?” He feels me shake my head in disagreement.

* * *

Trevor sits on the edge of our bed, watching me remove my uncomfortable heels and opaque nude pantyhose that conceals the bruising on my legs and feet. They were special ordered so that I can walk around in public in shorts, skirts, and dresses without Trevor getting dirty looks. I plop down on the bed beside him and we look at each other.

“I have to talk to you about something,” I say hesitantly.

“I’m all ears.”

“I was given an official diagnosis today,” I start, “I have PTSD.”

He takes my hand. “That’s ok. We sort of figured that after North Yankton. At least it’s on paper now and you’re getting the proper care for it.”

“Exactly,” I reply. “Things are going to get better from here on out.”

“They are,” he confirms. “You’re the strongest person I know. Nothing is going to stop you.”

“Nothing has stopped me so far,” I smile at him.

“We don’t have to talk about what you told the therapist today, but do you at least like them?”

“Dr.Marsden? Yes, I do think I like her already. She doesn’t beat around the bush, and neither do I. So, I think it’s a good fit. By the way, I’m sorry for the little outburst in the parking lot. I’ve never had to sit there and talk so heavily before, and it was overwhelming.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, (your name).”

“I have a lot to be sorry for, but I’m going to work through all of those things with my therapist. I know I met your suggestion with anger because I was scared and thought it meant that I was going crazy in everyone else’s mind, but it was a really good decision. I already feel like a small weight has been lifted off me, but it’s significant.”

“I’ll agree to all of that. You already seem a bit happier, which is all I want.” He smiles. 

“I want _us_ to be happy, and I know that I’ve been the source of stress in the house. I take full responsibility for that, but you and Johnny have been so good to me during this adjustment period. You deserve more than a thank you.”

“Stop it. You know we’re always here for you. You’re a very special person to all of us and we all know you’re one-in-a-million. We _have_ to take care of you. Besides, you’re the glue that keeps this house together.”

A tear rolls down my cheek, and for once it’s not because of anxiety, fear, or sadness. It’s also not met with my usual anger. This time, I don’t quickly wipe it away to hide it from Trevor. I let him see it. “This is exactly what I meant. You’ve _never_ made me feel second best, even after we had a baby. You’ve always made time for me like no one has before. You’re my fucking rock, Trevor.”

“It’s baffling to me that I was the first to make you feel that way. I know things weren’t always sunshine and daisies with your parents when you still lived with them, but you always kind of down-played how bad things got.”

“As you know by now, I’m not really one to easily share my emotions. I coach everyone else through theirs first and then go sit alone behind a locked door and cry. I think I learned a lot of things about myself today. Rather, I always knew these things, but they were pointed out and verified by someone else for the first time. One of those things being the fact that I don’t exaggerate things at all; I do the opposite. I make them seem less than what they are because I was never allowed to talk about my problems because I was told I was being ‘dramatic’.” I tell Trevor, who is eagerly listening.

“I’ve noticed you do that, but I always thought you were just nervous that people would think you were making things up. I really had no idea you were treated like you weren’t even there when you lived with your parents. I feel like I should’ve noticed, but you always say ‘Mom and dad did the best they could’. Well, one thing I can say is that this is already helping us communicate better.” He notes happily.

“When you sit there across from someone and they push into parts of your mind that you forgot were there, it exhausts you both mentally and physically. At that point, it’s easier to stop thinking about the things that cause you any kind of distress because you’re too tired. Then, it’s easier to have a conversation instead of being stuck inside your own head. I know this was just the first session, but I really do feel a lot better. Every session won’t be as good as good as this past one, but it gives me hope for progress and healing.”

“Good,” he says assuringly. “Now I hate to leave on that note, but it’s about time for Ryan’s nap.”

“Maybe I should do it. I feel like I haven’t seen him that much lately.”

“Well, you’ve been through a lot and you’ve been trying to process it all. There’s been a lot of new changes for everyone.” Trevor tries to reassure me.

“I know, but every child needs their mother and I feel like I’m depriving him of that.”

“Listen, mama bear, how many times are we gonna go over this? He’s not even going to remember this part of his life.”

“I know that too, but I guess it’s just my maternal instinct telling me to dote on him more.”

“Can you _please_ take a break from all of that until you’re in the swing of things? I just want you to focus on yourself and get to a point where you can do other daily tasks without being so anxious, then we can go back to spoiling the kid rotten.”

I giggle. “What can I say? I love my boys very much.”

“And your boys love you very much too,” he leans over and kisses me, “but one of them is a grown man and fully capable of taking care of the other one that occasionally shits himself. Just so we’re clear, Ryan is the one that shits his pants.”

“I hope!” I laugh again and smirk. “But there’s been a time or two when it _has_ been the grown man.”

“We’ve all been there,” he smiles and shrugs. “I’m going to go put the kiddo down for his nap now. Maybe you’d benefit from doing the same.”

“I just might.” I watch him walk out of the room and close the door, being overly careful about it. _I might_ very quickly turns into _I will_ as I lay back on the bed. Somehow, it just feels softer and better than I remember.


	16. Like a Hole in the Head

“...and that’s when I looked at her and said ‘You can have him. He has a small dick anyway’.” Ivy and I laugh hysterically over her admission. She covers her mouth. “Did I just say that out loud?” She asks rhetorically.

“Oh please,” I roll my eyes playfully. “That’s nothing compared to other things I’ve overheard in this city.”

“I’m from a small town in the country. Girls with that kind of upbringing are taught to never say anything unladylike. I still blush when I drop something and say ‘Damn it’. Floyd thinks it’s _so_ cute, but it annoys me. I wish I was more like the girls that were born and raised here. They’re so free to say and do whatever they want. The rest of us were instilled with a strong sense of guilt for even entertaining our wildest dreams of becoming a movie star or being the girlfriend of some sexy rockstar.” She sighs and sips her water.

“I know exactly what you mean. It was always my dream to end up living here, but my parents probably would’ve disowned me if I had said so.” I tell her jokingly.

Her eyes widen. “Same here! I always knew I wanted to end up in either one of the coast's biggest city. I thought for sure Liberty City was more attainable than Los Santos, but life takes you in unexpected directions.” 

“You can say that again.”

Both of us linger off into our own thoughts, but I can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. Here we go. This is the part of a new friendship where we’ve exhausted all the small talk topics and I’ve said a little too much to make her curious about my life. Now, she’s trying not to ask a heavy and/or uncomfortable question that isn’t fitting for our newly budding friendship, but it will ultimately be the deciding factor on if we stay acquaintances or if we are to become close friends. 

You can’t expedite the process of someone debating with themselves on asking that kind of question. It’s something you just have to wait out in an awkward silence littered with nervousness. They’re anxious to ask you the question and you’re anxious to answer it, so you start answering every embarrassing question you can think of in your head. No amount of preparation and rehearsal is going to be just right on the money to aid you in the awkward conversation. Your guess is hardly ever anywhere near correct.

“Can I ask you something a little personal?” She anxiously bites her lip. Here we go.

“Yeah, of course,” I say invitingly.

“Did your husband ever get cold feet when you two were getting married?” 

“No,” I reply punctually. “We had waited for so long that we both were beyond ready to tie the knot. Why do you ask?”

“I think Floyd might be starting to have second thoughts. I’ve been asking him to do all these little tasks to help out with the planning, but he doesn’t do them and he tells me he doesn’t have time. I know for a fact he does because all he has to do all day is sit behind that desk!” 

“Hey, calm down,” I say gently. “You don’t know for sure what’s going on with him. Guys can be just as complicated, if not more so, than us women. Give him some breathing room. Have you flat out asked him why he can’t do what you ask?”

“No,” she says defeatedly. “I’m too scared that he’s going to call off the wedding or something. I’ve been looking forward to this day since I was a little girl. I want it to be absolutely perfect.”

“I understand that, but let’s not stray too far from reality. Floyd is involved in this too and his feelings don’t have to be perfectly in alignment with your plan. He’s his own person. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Would you mind?” She grits her teeth together.

“Of course not. For all we know, he might just need a day like the day we’re having right now.” I put the guest list and invitation ideas she gave me in my bag. “Let’s not dwell on that too much. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” She says as we leave the restaurant together. “Would you come with me to my dress fitting in a few weeks? I don’t have family or friends out here and the little bit I do have sure as hell won’t travel out here, but I desperately need someone else’s opinion.”

I smile at her. “I’d be honored to. Just give me a heads up on the date and time, and I’ll be there.”

“Thank you _so_ much. You really don’t know how much that means to me.” She hugs me. “I’ll see you then.”

I give her a nod and we both part ways to go to our cars. With one hand I open the door to the truck, and with the other I hurl all the shopping bags I collected over today into the passenger seat. Ivy gives me one final look and a wave as I climb into the truck, which clearly still amuses her.

* * *

Opening the front door with my arms full is a struggle, but somehow I manage. I kick it closed behind me and it makes a loud enough sound to be heard in the kitchen, where Trevor seems to be. “Hey, crazy cakes! Did you have fun?!” He calls down the hall as I approach.

I don’t answer until I step inside the kitchen and place all the bags down on the kitchen island. “Yeah, it’s always nice to have a girl-day. I’m still getting to know Ivy, so it’s still in the awkward stages. She already asked me to go to her dress fitting with her.”

“If you’re getting overwhelmed, you need to speak up.”

“You know me better than that,” I smirk. “It’s going to take a lot more to overwhelm me. However, she thinks Floyd is starting to get cold feet and she won’t talk to him about it. She wants me to do it and I just don’t think that’s a healthy way to start a marriage, but it’s none of my business really.”

Trevor turns his back to me and goes quiet while I pull everything out of the bags. I want to show him everything I got while I was out. I wait for him to turn around, but he’s occupied completely by his phone. He holds it up to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” I ask curiously. He doesn’t answer. “Trevor? Wait! Trevor, don’t you dare!” I lunge for his phone, but he evades me. He puts the call on speakerphone and holds it up in the air so I can’t grab it. I still try anyway.

“Hello?” Floyds voice comes out of the phone.

“Hey, Floyd! (Your name) just got back from lunch with Ivy. She mentioned that Ivy had said you might be having cold feet. I was just wondering about that and thought we could talk man-to-man.” Trevor says straightforwardly.

“I ain’t got cold feet! Why would she think that?!” He exclaims.

“She says that she’s asked you to do small things to prepare for the wedding and you haven’t done them,” I say.

“I’ve done _everything_ she’s asked, but it ain’t my fault if everything isn’t ready the moment she wants it to be. It stresses her out to hear that something isn’t complete, so I just don’t tell her nothing.” Floyd explains. We all go silent for a moment.

“Floyd, answer me honestly: do we have a Bridezilla on our hands?” I ask timidly.

“I’m beginning to think so. This whole weddin’ plannin’ has brought out a whole new side to her that I haven’t seen. She’s always pissed off now!”

I sigh. “Ok, here’s what I need you to do: tell her to gather up everything she has planned so far and say that I’ve looked at the invitation samples and I need more to go on to make everything cohesive. Tell her that I’m going to need to take all the plans from here on out.” 

“Are you crazy?!” Trevor yells at me involuntarily.

I ignore him and continue talking to Floyd. “I can handle it and it’ll take the stress off of her, and that will in turn take the stress off of you.”

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’re doing already. Oh, I think that’s her now. I’ll talk to you guys soon.” He hangs up and Trevor angrily tosses his phone on the island.

“That’s going to be too much to handle all at once! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“You haven’t even given me a chance yet, Trevor. If it turns out to be too much, I’ll ask Amanda for help. She’s a natural at this stuff anyway.” I pack up all the bags and hoist them all off the counter to take them upstairs. 

Trevor follows me to the bedroom. “You’re dealing with your own shit right now and I told you to focus on that! Now is not the time to help everyone else out with their trivial shit!”

I throw the bags on the bed and face him. “Just because there’s a slight difference in my brain of how I process things doesn’t mean I’m totally incapable of doing other things, Trev! In fact, it’s good for me to get my mind off of what happened. If I lay in bed all day and think about it like you want me to, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind! I already told you that Marsden said it’s fine not to obsess over it, in fact that’s better for me.”

He stands there awkwardly, not knowing what else to say to argue his point. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

“I appreciate it, honey, but this will not turn into how you treated me when I was pregnant if I can help it. I know what I’m capable of, and I need you trust that I won’t over do it. If I get to that point, then I will ask for help. But Jesus fucking christ, Trevor, you have to let me at least try!”

“Ok, ok,” he says defensively, “but there’s still something I should tell you.”

“What now?!” 

“The dishwasher may or may not be broken,” he admits sheepishly.

I cover my eyes with a hand. “How did that happen?!”

“Something probably went in there- oh who am I kidding? Something definitely went in there that shouldn’t have.” 

“You know what? I don’t want to know. All I want to know is if you can fix it.”

“Yeah,” he wraps his arms around me in an attempt to smooth things over, “I can fix anything.” 

“Then you better get on that right now because I’m going to need it after dinner tonight. First, I want to show you some things I got while I was out today. There are some things for you, Ryan, and Johnny.”

* * *

After I’ve shown Trevor my take from earlier today, I resort to putting everything away myself. My things get hung up in the closet and I try to neatly fold Trevor’s things and put them in the drawers in the closet. I leave the new jeans for Johnny on his bed and the clothes for Ryan on the dresser in his room for future folding.

Then, I head downstairs to make dinner for tonight and to see what the boys are up to. Johnny is lounging on the couch, watching tv with Ryan in his lap. Trevor is kneeling beside the dishwasher with his upper half inside the unit. The top and bottom racks to the dishwasher are sopping wet and sitting on top of the island. Carefully, I move them to the floor next to the trash can.

“How is it looking?” I ask him.

His voice is muffled. “Dishwashers are a real pain in the ass to fix, but it’s nothing for me. It’ll be fixed before dinner.”

“Alright, well I’m starting on dinner now. So, we’ll see about that.” I say sarcastically and my gaze locks onto his flexing arms as he uses a pair of pliers to do only god knows what. Before I know it, I’m subtly biting my lip and getting those same weird feelings. Quickly, I look away and focus on dinner.

I decide that spaghetti is the easiest thing to make tonight and a cult favorite in this house. After all, I’ve had a full day and the rest of this week doesn’t show any signs of being any different. While the water is working up to a boil, I take Ryan from Johnny and quickly feed him his dinner. Then, Johnny volunteers to put him to bed. 

Trevor and I have a brief moment in the kitchen alone. I’ve never been frustrated by that the way I am now. All I want to do is tell him how attractive he is when he’s fixing things around the house. That’s one of those weird things I find really hot, but I know he’d misconstrue the meaning behind it if I were to say anything. So, I refocus on the spaghetti sauce I’m trying to concoct even though Trevor is making it very difficult for me to concentrate. Luckily, he backs up out of the dishwasher and gathers up all his tools.

“There,” he says proudly. “I’m pretty sure it’s all fixed. Good as new if you ask me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “We’ll see after dinner.”

He disappears into the garage to put the tools in their respective places, and quickly comes back into the kitchen. Trevor has learned not to come up behind me and wrap his arms around me like he used to, so he hovers beside me and watches me stir the sauce. That didn’t take him too long to learn considering my new overly sensitive startle response. 

“I could smell the sauce as soon as I came back inside the house. Smells great, cupcake.” He says in a low, hushed voice.

I look at him, trying to read what the point of that is. “It’s going to be ready very soon. Why don’t you go watch tv or something for a few minutes while I put the plates together?”

“I’m perfectly fine right here and I can help you with the plates.” He smirks at me.

Annoyed, I tap the excess sauce off my spatula and place it across the brim of the pot. I look Trevor in his eyes. “Don’t do this to me right now. How many times have I told you?” I say quietly, but sternly.

“I’m not doing anything. I’d love for you to enlighten me on what it is you seem to think I’m doing,” Trevor says, obviously playing dumb.

“Just go sit at the table,” I say angrily. He begins to speak, but I cut him off. “Go sit at the table!”

Without another word, he lumbers off to the table but keeps staring at me as I scoop noodles and sauce onto three plates with a side of garlic bread. First, I set a plate down in Johnny’s spot and then I place one in front of Trevor. He still continues to stare at me, which is making me extremely uncomfortable. I grab my own plate and sit next to him, as he still stares at me.

“Can you knock it off? You’re freaking me out,” I say quietly as I take a sip of water from my glass.

“Why? I’m just looking at my beautiful wife.” He replies.

“ _Stop._ ” I say with a clenched jaw as Johnny comes down the stairs.

He takes a seat at the table with us. “He’s already fast asleep,” he says with a smile. 

“Thank you, Johnny. That’s a really big help.”

“Oh, I really don’t mind. It makes me think maybe I should get out there again, settle down, and have one of my own.” 

“I think that’d be really good for you,” I add supportively.

“Yeah, maybe it would, but I’m pretty sure Ashley was it for me. She was the one if there was ever going to be ‘ _the one_.”

“There’s someone out there for you if you want there to be,” says Trevor with his mouth full.

“It just doesn’t feel right to live out her dream with someone else. She was my soulmate and I don’t think that’d be doing her memory any justice.”

I sigh with annoyance, and only Trevor picks up on that because he shoots me a look. However, I disregard it. “Why don’t you ever think about it from her perspective? What if the roles were reversed? She had so much love to give and she wanted to have kids. What do you think she would’ve done?” 

As soon as it has come out of my mouth, I regret it and realize this is one of those “outbursts of anger” Dr. Marsden and Trevor have been reminding me about. Johnny clearly doesn’t know what to say and just looks at me with a saddened expression, then goes to morosely twirl his spaghetti around his fork. Trevor wipes his mouth and puts his fork down on his plate calmly. 

“Alright, excuse us for a second, Johnny.” Trevor says as he slowly stands.

“Sorry, Johnny,” I blurt out with frustration. I toss my fork down, which makes a loud _clank_ as it hits the ceramic plate. Quickly, I stand to avoid Trevor ushering me out of the kitchen. “I was done anyway,” I storm off.

Trevor follows me down the hallway. When he catches up with me, he grabs my upper arm and pulls me into the downstairs bathroom. He shuts the door and gives me a look that says he’s angry _at_ me and embarrassed _for_ me. I cross my arms, trying to act tough even though I know what I said was pretty shitty.

“What?” I snap at him.

“Why did you have to go and say that?! You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone like that! You had no right to say that. Do you have any idea how that probably made him feel? I’ll go ahead and tell you because you don’t seem to be using your brain right now! He basically feels like he didn’t matter to Ashley the way she mattered to him!” Trevor berates me.

I roll my eyes. “It’s his fault if he believes me. He knows my head is all fucked up right now.”

“Oh, I see! Now we’re making excuses to act like a dick! Why shouldn’t he believe you? You were her best friend and probably heard all sorts of shit about Johnny that he never knew about!”

I bite my lip in an attempt to keep from crying. I look away from Trevor so he can’t tell, but I know I can never fight it off. Instead, I sit down on the toilet seat cover, begin to cry, and cover my ears with my hands. “ **Just stop fucking yelling, ok?!** ” My whole body begins to shake, especially my hands. 

Trevor sighs with annoyance, and goes to gently move my hands away from my ears. “Can you quiet down? I don’t want Johnny to overhear us and feel awkward.” 

I yank my arm away from him and anxiously bounce my knee up and down. Trevor looks on with concern and wants to help, but just doesn’t know how. Largely because I don’t let him, and my therapist says I should try to relinquish some of that control I so desperately try to hoard. I’m supposed to take baby steps out of my comfort zone. I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, count to ten, slowly let it out, and open my eyes again. Trevor still watches me, wishing he knew what to do. 

“I’m not making excuses when I say this, but you pulled me into an enclosed space and just hounded me. Even though I know you aren’t going to hurt me, it still reminds me of some unpleasant things and I panicked. I’m sorry, but I don’t have complete control over this.”

He kneels down in front of me. “Can I touch you now?” I nod and he takes one of my hands in his. “I understand that and that’s not what I’m mad about. You know, I’m not even really mad. I’m just a little disappointed because you would never say anything like that to anyone.”

“You think I’m unaware of the fact that this whole thing has made me different than the way I used to be? How many times have we been over that alone?” My eyes search his face. “If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s that this is a temporary roadblock in our lives. It takes a lot of work over some time to clear it, but it’s not going to clear up any sooner just because you want it to.”

“I know, and I’m really trying to be patient. You have to understand that it doesn’t just affect you though. Everyone in this house has to go through it with you. It’s just as hard for Johnny and I because we have no idea how to help you.I _want_ to help you, but you physically and emotionally push me away. We’re all trying here: you, me, and Johnny.” He reminds me.

“I really am grateful for you both; I _really_ am, but neither of you have **any** fucking clue what it’s like for me! You have _no_ idea what happened to me!” I shove him so I can storm out of the bathroom and run upstairs.

“Babe, that’s not what I meant!” Trevor says with frustration. “I have a pretty good fucking guess though!” He calls after me. “ **Maybe it’s because you never fucking tell me a goddamn thing!** ”

I slam our bedroom door shut and throw whatever’s in sight all over the room, mainly shoes and odds-n-ends that were laying on our nightstands. Blinded by pure anger for Trevor, I send my fist flying through the wall that Trevor had to patch from punching through it himself. Once I tire myself out physically, I fall onto the bed and almost immediately drift off to sleep.

* * *

I’m woken up by the sound of the door opening and crane to look at it. Trevor quietly shuts it behind himself and flips off the lights. He sits on the edge of the bed to untie his boots and doesn’t say a word to me. Slowly and tiredly, I sit up to move more on my side of the bed and to give him some room. Next, he stands and unbuttons his jeans so he can slide them off and I watch him. 

“What are you looking at?” He asks with an attitude as he snatches the covers up and slides into bed beside me. “The fucking dishwasher works beautifully by the way.”

I hug my knees into my chest, “Thank you.” He simply replies with a grumble, and I gingerly climb out of bed to change into pajamas. Trevor goes the extra mile to make sure I know he isn’t looking at me like I was looking at him. I try my hardest not to disturb him as I get back into bed to avoid anymore of his wrath today. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I cuddle up to him.

“Don’t be,” he scratches at his brow.

“No, you’re right. Just because I’m a little different now doesn’t give me the right to be an asshole to my family. I’ll give him a better apology tomorrow.” 

He rubs his face. “No, it’s really not you. It’s me too. I’ve been trying really hard to go back into internalization mode so that I can help you out more. We already know that doesn’t end up working very well. So, _I’m_ sorry, ” he admits.

“I don’t want to go to bed fighting anymore, T. I don’t want to fight with you anymore period. This is a crucial time in our lives and we don’t need to be driven further apart. The only way we’re going to move forward is if we’re both on the same page. We’ve never really had a failure to communicate like this before.”

He slowly sits up and squints into the darkness to the wall opposite the bed. “Is there goddamn hole in the wall?” 

“There very well might be.” I say with sarcasm.

He collapses backwards onto his pillow and exhales loudly, rubbing his face again. “And how did that happen? I’m going to have to patch it again.”

“I was angry,” I answer concisely.

“Maybe I shouldn’t patch it. It’s probably just going to get punched out again.” He jokes.

“You are _not_ leaving a giant hole in the wall!” 

“I’ll fix it tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. Just come here and relax.” He holds his arm out for me to cuddle back up to him, and so he can wrap it around me. 

“I’m sorry about the hole too,” I whisper and he giggles to himself.


	17. Compromise

Dr. Marsden and I sit across from one another silently. I’m never fully in the mood to talk to her when I’m here, but today the feeling is the strongest it’s ever been. She wiggles her foot with anticipation, waiting for me to begin the conversation. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and she finally bites the bullet.

“Our last few sessions, we’ve discussed some things in your everyday life that act as triggers and how to reduce your responses to them. Today, I’d like to take a break from that and talk about something you brought up in our first session together. That is, if you’re comfortable talking about it because it caused some distress the first time. I’d like you to try to complete the story of how you met your husband.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, I was on my way home one very late night. I shouldn’t have been walking home that late, but I was a naive young girl. This man comes out of nowhere and pins me to the wall, harassing me to no end. Trevor also comes out of nowhere and knocks the guy out when he refuses to leave me alone. Then, he walked me all the way home. He actually met both of my parents that night and they seemed to immediately take a liking to him, just like me.” Nervously, I pick at my cuticles.

She lets the conversation have some breathing room before we proceed, and she looks at me like she already knows how everything comes full circle. “Have you given it any thought as to why you got so upset the first time you attempted to tell me that story?”

“Not really,” I reply with full honesty. “In fact, I kind of forgot we discussed that all together. If you’re seeing some relationship there, you’re going to have to explain it to me because I’m failing to see how that story is even relevant right now.”

“Your subconscious probably deliberately tried to push it out of mind so you didn’t have to think about it while you were trying to cope with your feelings about it and how it relates to your life now. You got very upset the first time and couldn’t continue with the story, which is evidence of strong emotion towards it. I think you got upset, and maybe even a little angry, when you were trying to tell me the story because Trevor was there to rescue you the night you first met, but not with this most recent event when you really needed him.” 

Before the tears even get a chance to escape, I take a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Yeah,” I sigh, “that sounds just about right. I don’t blame him though. There wasn’t much he could do and he really did do the best he could.” Marsden gives me a look. “ **Alright!** You want me to say my husband fucked up?!”

“No, I don’t want you to say that he ‘fucked up’. This has also been a recurring theme since our first session that you have trouble with validating the hardships you’ve endured. Trevor very well may have done all he could, but that will never cover up the fact that you felt abandoned for however brief a moment you say it is. You appreciate everything he did for you and you know he always had your best interest in mind, but you felt neglected by your husband and you won’t acknowledge that. You haven’t been honest with yourself about your anger towards him, and that’s part of the reason you’re finding communication and affection so difficult with him.” She says.

I cover my face with my hand and rest my elbow on the arm of the chair. “I already know that, but I’ve been extremely scared to admit that because of what it might mean. I love him so fucking much, but I’ve also never been _this_ angry at him.”

“What makes you so overly concerned with the meaning behind everything? Not everything has a hidden meaning. Being angry at your husband means that you were hurt by someone you love, and that’s all. It doesn’t mean that you don’t love him or that you two will get a divorce, so stop thinking that way.”

“My fucking god! If I wanted to be advised by my husband, then I wouldn’t have come to therapy! You sound _exactly_ like him!” 

“It sounds to me like he’s doing and saying everything he should then. You refuse to listen to him, you don’t value his opinion, and you won’t tell him the truth about how you feel. It’s surprising to me that you thought you’d ever get any kind of result from that kind of environment.”

I slump down in my chair. “We used to be able to and that’s why I’m so worried that this might not be working out. After what happened in North Yankton, I was a wreck but Trevor really came through for me when I needed him most of the time. Now, it’s seems like he’s only acting like he wants to help me. He’s not as patient as he was with North Yankton, but he thinks he is.”

“You’ve already said it yourself that this last event was something entirely new. Let me remind you that Trevor went through North Yankton _with_ you. You two do not share an experience this time. You both endured two entirely different scenarios, so you both might find yourself in a constant battle for ‘who suffered more’ without even realizing it. I’d bet that Trevor has his own traumas from this too that he’s trying to deal with.” She says smartly.

“I feel like such an idiot. A few days ago, I told my friend Johnny to see things from his girlfriend’s perspective on something totally unrelated to this conversation, but I guess I really never stopped to think about applying the same idea to my own problems. I should have. He probably does have all sorts of stuff swimming around in his head that I’m completely unaware of. I haven’t been very fair to him through all of this.” I suddenly feel an immense wave of guilt wash over me.

“I have a suggestion. I think it would be beneficial for the both of you,” Marsden says.

“I can’t wait to hear this,” I roll my eyes.

“Consider bringing Trevor with you to the next session. I think it’s safe to say you two could use a guided discussion considering the lack of communication you’ve mentioned.”

“No, no, no! I can’t do that. You don’t understand. He doesn’t just sit down and take things in like everyone else. He gets extremely, _extremely_ angry right off the bat. That’s his first reaction to everything.” I try to explain to her.

“Then that proves my point even further. I’ll be here to help you both get your points across to each other and I promise he won’t get _extremely_ angry. He’ll probably be desperate to hear everything you haven’t been able to tell him. This is a safe environment for the two of you to explore those thoughts and feelings.” She convinces me.

“Ok, but I can’t promise you anything. The last time we all had a group therapy session, it definitely could’ve gone better. Then again, the therapist was kind of an asshole. Anyway, you might want to have the fire department on standby.” I joke.

This makes Marsden laugh. “I doubt we’ll have that many problems. You paint such a lovely picture of him when you talk about him during our sessions, but he’s immediately a crazed lunatic when I suggest having him sit in.”

“He _is_ a crazed lunatic, but he’s _my_ crazed lunatic. He’s settled down these past few years, but I haven’t even told you a quarter of all the crazy shit we’ve done together and I’ve told you even less about the crazy shit he’s done all on his own that makes me look like Mother-fucking-Teresa.” I tense up slightly, and she notes this.

“Well, the offer still stands and I think it would be in both of your best interests to take me up on it. It’ll give both of you the chance to say what’s on your minds, and with my guidance I will help it be a productive conversation instead of it resulting in another argument between you two.”

“I have to say, that does sound nice. I’ll try to talk to him about it.”

* * *

Trevor picks Ryan up out of his highchair and rocks him playfully. While I hand wash some of the heavy duty dishes to give the newly repaired dishwasher a break, Trevor gives me a rundown of his day. 

“Oh, and then Franklin had to explain to Johnny what a ‘whip’ is,” he laughs. “I guess bikers don’t really have a use for that word. Anyway, how was your day?”

“It was really good!” I reply with enthusiasm as I dry the water off my hands and turn to face my husband. “There is something I want to ask you, and it’s a really big favor.”

“Ok,” he says with anticipation as he sways with Ryan on his hip.

“Dr.Marsden thinks that you should come with me to the next session. She thinks it would help us communicate more effectively. Would you do that?” I ask timidly.

“Yeah, of course!” He answers excitedly. “I think that’s a great idea.”

He can tell I’m extremely surprised. “ _Really_?”

“Yeah! I’m not too proud to admit we need a little help, and I trust your therapist a lot more than I trusted Michael’s. This could be a really good thing for us.” He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Ryan makes a displeased noise. “We didn’t forget about you, cowboy,” Trevor says to his son as he raises him up slightly to kiss his cheek too.

I smile at them and brush the front strands of Ryan’s hair back a little bit. “He’s getting so big. I can’t believe he’s almost two already. Where does the time go?”

“I know.” He gently guides Ryan’s head to his chest so it covers his ear, and he covers the other one with his hand, “It’s making me feel old as fuck.” He uncovers the toddler’s ears.

Laughing, I say to Trevor, “Just imagine when we’re in Michael and Amanda’s shoes. Can you imagine when he’s old enough to go to college? _That’s_ when we’ll feel really old.”

“Can we just stop him from growing? He’s so cute right now and I’m really not looking forward to the years where he can rightfully point out all my screw-ups.” 

“I’m kind of looking forward to that because we’ll have a new perspective on things. It’ll be interesting to see how he views the world considering he’ll have a mixture of our genetics. At this point, I don’t know who he’ll be more like. He’s a pretty good mix of us in terms of looks.”

“For his sake and our’s, I hope he’s more like you,” Trevor laughs. “He’s going to be a goddamn nightmare if he’s like me in the teenage years.”

“We’ll have to have a preemptive talk when he’s going into middle school about how sodomizing your hockey coach with a hockey stick is not an appropriate measure to take to get your anger out.” I giggle.

Trevor cracks a smile. “Luckily, we’re not in Canada where it’s just expected of you to play it at some point. I’m not going to force him into that fresh hell. All the other kids were too scared to play against me, and my teammates were even bigger pussies. I got in trouble _so_ many times for being too aggressive with body-checking.”

I pat him on the back. “You’ve never been able to play very nicely with others,” I jeer.

Ryan makes another displeased noise and reaches out his hand towards me. “Ma-ma,” he says.

“I’m right here,” I say to him sweetly as I take him from Trevor’s arms. “You’re getting heavier too! I think you need to lay off the animal crackers, bud,” I joke. 

“That’s just evil,” Trevor contributes to my joke. “You can take away the applesauce and the peas, but not the animal crackers!” He quickly goes to the pantry, digs in a box, and comes back over to hand Ryan an animal cracker. He immediately takes it and eats it, and Trevor tussles his son’s hair with a smile from ear to ear.

While we watch Ryan chow down happily on the single animal cracker, I turn to Trevor. “Is there any chance you know when Johnny is supposed to come home?”

“Yeah, he said he probably won’t be home until 11 tonight. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing because he goes to work so early and is done by two usually. Why?” 

“I was just wondering when I should make dinner, but if he’s not coming home until 11 I think he should just get takeout on his way home. I’m going to go ahead and put little man to bed since he’s already had dinner and he’s yawning quite a bit.”

“Ok, I’ll be right here.” Trevor says as he wanders into the living room and plops down on the couch.

Once I reach Ryan’s room, his clothes need to be changed and I gently lay him down in his crib. I tuck him in with a light blanket my dad got him when I first had Ryan. He snuggles up and closes his eyes.

Soundlessly, I leave the room and trek back downstairs to Trevor. He’s still casually watching tv and gives me a brief glance as I sit down next to him on the couch. He’s more invested in the show than I am, and doesn’t even notice me looking at him. It feels like one one of those perfect moments to make a move, but I’m still not quite there yet.

It’s right on the mark to say that it’s a mixture of fear of not being comfortable with it and anger towards him taking so long to get me out of that horribly sticky situation. At the same time, he’s my husband and it’s incredibly frustrating to me to be in such an emotional limbo. I can only imagine how frustrated he is and he’s trying hard not to say anything about it to me. This is why we need that session together.

I know I’m about to feel extremely guilty, but this feels like the excruciating sexual tension of high school. You’re sitting in your desk, staring across the room at the person you want so badly. But because of the mysterious and equally excruciating ways of the animal kingdom, there’s no chance of anything coming to fruition. This is not high school though. We are a married couple and this whole situation is completely fucked for me to even think about. I can get some form of relief if I want it.

Without too much thought, I quickly swing a leg over Trevor’s and sit on his lap. His eyebrows knit together in confusion and he’s pretty much speechless. I hold his face in my hands and proceed to kiss him with a hint of aggression. His hands slowly rest on my hips, and for a brief moment he’s totally into it. Then, he makes a sound that definitely doesn’t meant ‘continue’. 

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

He sighs and scratches his head. “This is just confusing right now and I know it’s not going to go anywhere.”

Disappointedly, I say, “We can’t just continue making out? I think I’m ok if I’m in control.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” he says with annoyance and glances down at his lap, “I _like_ when you get all feisty out of the blue, but I know you still don’t want to do anything more. I’m sorry, but this just isn’t fair to either one of us.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t think it’d become a problem that quickly.” I say as I go back to sitting next to him, but with dejection this time. 

He raises his eyebrows and gives me a look. “You know, it’s been like two and a half months at this point.”

“Ugh, please don’t say that. It makes me feel awful. Believe me when I tell you that I’m just as pent up, but I’m still not quite ready,” I say to him. “I really am sorry, Trev.”

“It’s fine,” he says sounding only half convincing. He winces as he moves ever so slightly at the restriction of his jeans. “I’m going to have to go take care of this.”

“Do you, uh, want any help?” I ask awkwardly.

“Nope,” he groans out of pain as he stands up. “I’ve got it.” 

I watch him practically waddle out of the room and then throw my head back on the back of the couch. “Fuck,” I whisper to myself in agitation. 

About ten minutes later, he comes back and plops down on the couch next to me like nothing ever happened. I look at him again, but he simply grabs the remote and flips through the channels aimlessly. So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and watch him watch tv and feel like I screw up at every turn? Something has to give.

“So,” I begin, “now that you’re all taken care of, do you think we could continue a little longer this time?”

Trevor sighs and turns the tv off. He looks at me with those serious dark brown eyes. “Why are you doing this now? At first you wanted absolutely nothing, but now you’re doing just enough to tease me and drive me absolutely crazy. I think I liked it better when you didn’t want anything at all.”

“Look, I’ve said I’m sorry more than once now. Like you said, it’s been two and a half months and even though I’m not ready to hop right back on, that doesn’t mean that I don’t still have those needs!” I say a little more steely than I intended.

“I completely get that, but at least you can put those feelings away when it’s convenient. I’m forced to stumble off alone to the bathroom for a bout with depression, shame, and guilt that I flush down the toilet! It shouldn’t have to be like this!” 

“I agree, but this is where I’m at right now for the time being. I need you to meet me halfway.”

“Alright!” He roars. “Alright. I hear you. I don’t understand why you can’t just take my lead and do it yourself, but we can try again. What’s going to make you the most comfortable?” 

“Lay back,” I command. 

I stand up for a brief second to turn out the lamp on the end table, making the room almost completely dark. Then, I straddle him again and lean over to kiss him slowly. One of my hands steadies my body by resting in the center of his chest. His hands grip my waist tightly, and I push against his grip to add an interesting element to this endeavor. 

As we part for air for a minute, he whispers breathlessly, “Shit.”

“You good?” I ask.

“Yeah, just don’t keep grinding against me.”

Seductively, I go back in for more kissing and whisper, “But it feels so good.”

He grabs my shoulders, “Ok, up.”

“What? Why?” I inquire grumpily as we both sit up.

“I can’t do this,” he shakes his head and then looks at me with sorrow-filled eyes. “There’s just too many little things about this that I have to keep in mind and it’s confusing as hell. I’m all turned on again, which I was desperately trying to avoid. This just isn’t a good idea right now. I gotta go.”

He quickly leaves the room like he’s trying to avoid something. Instead of waiting on him to finish his business and come back downstairs, I sneakily follow him upstairs. I sit on his side of the bed which is closest to the bathroom. On the other side of the wall, I can hear him grunting. Soon afterwards, I hear the flush of the toilet and then the sink turns on. 

More time passes than is necessary to dry your hands after washing them, and he doesn’t come out. Not wanting to invade his privacy, I sit quietly on the bed and continue to wait for him. After a few more minutes pass and he still hasn’t come out of the bathroom, I hear very faint sobs. I listen to make absolutely sure that’s what I hear and then knock on the door softly.

He sniffles, trying to hide that he’s crying. “What?!” He calls out.

“Are you ok, T?” I ask sensitively from the opposite side of the door.

He pauses for a moment before answering. “The door isn’t locked.” I take the invitation and slowly turn the knob, opening the door between him and I. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. As I step into the bathroom, he looks from the floor up to me. His eyes are red and puffy, and the area underneath his bottom lashes is wet. 

Sheepishly, I approach him and sit on my knees on the floor beside him. He looks back at the ground between his feet and I watch him with sadness on my countenance now too. I put a hand on his leg to remind him I’m here.

“I’m _not_ ok, to answer your question.”

“I can see that, but talk to me about what’s going on. How many times have you done this?” I ask with intense concern.

“A few,” he retorts bitterly. 

“What’s going on, Trevor?” I urge him to continue.

“I’m just so fucking frustrated: sexually, physically, mentally, emotionally. Whatever ways you can be frustrated, that’s me. We’re stuck in this shitty fucking cycle, and I’m on the verge of losing my mind.” He says angrily through gritted teeth.

“Well, we’re already going to have a therapy session together. I think it’s mandatory at this point. I had no idea you’ve been this upset. You’ve been so strong and supportive to me, and I wish you showed me that you need the same thing. You know, Marsden said North Yankton was different because we both shared the same traumatic experience. This time it’s harder because we experienced very different sides to the same event, and that’s what we’re going to have to open up about.” I take his hand and squeeze it. “I think it’s going to help us see things for what they are from each other’s viewpoint, and that’s going to help clear up a lot of the misconstrued thoughts and feelings.”

He looks over at me as a tear rolls down his cheek. I wipe it away with the sleeve of my jacket and rest my chin on his knee in an attempt to make him smile. He does for a short moment and then says, “Honestly, I’m beyond terrified.”

“What about?” I ask eagerly.

“You’ve barely told me anything about what happened to you, so my brain has pieced together a story and now I’m convinced that it’s right. I’m scared to sit in that office and have my worst fears confirmed. That scares me because I know there’s nothing I can do about it. The bastards that took you are already dead.” He confides in me.

“You’re not alone because I’m really scared too. Dr.Marsden and I have never gone into specifics about what happened because it’s obviously traumatic and she said it’s counterproductive for me to relive it, but I do _want_ to tell you. You literally know everything about me and I need you to know what happened to understand where I’m at right now. I’m scared of hurting you though. I want to be the only one that’s angry or in pain in some way. I’m scared of putting you through the same anguish right along with me as I tell you what I lived through.”

“I guess that makes me feel somewhat better in a weird way, I guess,” he scoffs. “I’m not trying to avoid this conversation, but I think we should save the rest of it for therapy.”

I sit up straight, “I’m completely fine with that, and maybe that’s the healthiest decision for right now. Let’s take a break from being frustrated right now.”

“Perfectly fine with me.” 

I stand up and take his hand, leading him to the bed. He turns out the lights as I crawl into bed, and he joins me shortly thereafter. Trevor sniffles to signal to himself that he’s done getting upset for the night and then gets into bed beside me. 

Being a side sleeper, I roll over so that my back is to him. His arm encloses around my waist and he pulls me close to him, spooning me. I smile to myself in the darkness because for once I’m not fearful or anxious at this kind of unexpected touch. I feel _safe_.


	18. Truce

Jadedly, I dig in my bag for my phone as Trevor’s eyes curiously wander around the waiting room. He watches the others that are condemned to the anxious waiting game right along with us. Finally, my hand hits my phone and I fish it out. For no other reason than to occupy my mind for a few seconds, I check the time.

It feels like eons have passed, but in reality it’s only been about three minutes. Dr.Marsden’s door opens and Trevor and I watch as a crying middle-aged woman leaves. Marsden looks at me, signaling that it’s now our turn together. I get up and enter the office with Trevor in tow.

An extra seat has been brought into her office specifically for this session with Trevor. It glides over the carpet as Marsden pulls it into place beside the chair I usually sit in. I take my seat and Trevor leisurely takes the newly placed seat beside me.

As Marsden takes her seat across from my husband and I, she says to him, “You must be Trevor. I’ve heard a fair amount about you. I want to start by thanking you for being here. Most spouses are very hesitant to accompany their significant other to a session.”

“Hm, why is that?” He inquires.

“I think a lot of people find dealing with others’ traumas can be overwhelming, especially at the thought that they might be put on the spot. I also find that spouses have a lot of questions, so if there’s anything you’d like to ask, I’m all ears.” She forces a smile.

“Can’t think of any at the moment, but I’ll ask as they surface.” He says plainly.

“Alright, then with that we’ll begin the session. Since we’re all here to support (your name), I think you should start us off. Any place is good.” She says to me.

“I was thinking about this on the drive here,” I begin. “What value does it place on forgiveness if we’re told to forgive everyone?” Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell Trevor is already looking at me like I’m insane.

Marsden is quick to answer me. “Forgiveness is valuable because it’s not about forgetting or accepting someone’s wrongdoings; it’s for _you_. It’s about being able to let go of your own anger so you can move forward with or without the person in question. Who is it that you’re struggling with forgiving?”

“Obviously, the two men that landed me here and,” I trail off, make eye contact with Trevor, and then look back at Marsden, “I’m having trouble forgiving Trevor too.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you talking about?” 

I look to Marsden for direction to deflect his increasing anger, but she regrettably just stares at us. So, I turn to him and face the music. “I’m grateful for every decision you made during this whole ordeal because we’re all still alive, but there are a few things I can’t stop thinking about. For instance, you didn’t listen to me when I told you that I was suspicious of all the weird stuff happening around the house. I fully understand that there was only so much you could do considering that we had no information to go on, but your idea of a solution was to move frequently between places we go normally.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault all of this happened?”

“No! I never even implied that. I’m just saying that that’s when our communication started to go downhill. You’ve _always_ listened to me, but for some reason you were a little lenient that time. The Trevor I know would’ve said, ‘You’re right. This cleanly decapitated cat right outside our house is a little fishy.’ ” 

“Oh,” he scoffs, “ ‘the Trevor _you_ know’. That’s funny. So I guess I’m someone else now?” 

“Well, yeah! Kind of. You’re very dismissive and you don’t even really make an effort to talk to me about everything that happened. When North Yankton happened, you were up my ass to talk about it!” 

“Are you kidding?! I’ve thought about it every single fucking day! I’m forced to piece together a story from the bits of information you _do_ give me, but I know how hard this has been on you so I don’t force the issue!” He counters.

“You see I’m having a hard time, so you simply pretend like nothing ever happened?!” 

“For fuck’s sake!” He roars. “You barely let me touch you! You flinch when I go to move hair out of your face! You think that makes me feel like you’re ready to talk about what happened to you?! But fuck me because _I’m_ the asshole in this situation.” 

“You think _I’m_ the asshole?!” 

He cradles his head in his hands. “Jesus christ! No! That’s not what I meant! See, this is another reason that I haven’t pushed you to talk about it. You’ve been really hard to talk to the past four months.”

“ _I’ve_ been hard to talk to?! I can’t wait to hear the reasoning behind that!” I cross my arms angrily.

“You get so fucking angry so damn fast! I can’t get a word in edgewise before you start seeing red. How many times have I had to patch that wall in our bedroom from you throwing shit at it or punching it?!” Trevor looks over at Marsden, “Did she tell you about that?”

“We’ve discussed her outbursts of anger,” she answers simply.

Trevor refocuses on me. “Do you have any idea how much guilt I feel over that?! I know you’ve been suppressing anger for _years_ and it’s just coming out, but I’ve been pushing back so much guilt!”

“You’re so quick to play the victim now. How would any of that relate to you?” I roll my eyes.

“Are you **_fucking_** kidding me?! Every time you have an outburst, all I can think of is how you’ve seen me do that for years! I feel like I’ve turned you into this extremely angry person because of my own anger! I don’t even know how you can’t see that after you’ve just said you can’t forgive me!” 

“I did not say I can’t forgive you, Trevor. I said I don’t know how. We prided ourselves on our communication, but somehow that fell to the wayside. I don’t want that to continue. I _want_ to talk to you, but I know that also means hurting you and I’m so over doing that.” 

He pauses a moment. “That’s another reason why I haven’t asked again. Sometimes I’m not sure I want to know. I’m tired of the overwhelming anxiety of thinking I’m going to lose you. I thought it would end after you were back home for a few days, but it’s a whole new kind of pain when I try to show you any kind of affection and you flinch away from me like I’ve hurt you. I’ve never laid a finger on you and it kills me to see you afraid of me in that way.”

I sigh, “I _am_ the asshole. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own pain that I didn’t stop to think about yours. I had no idea you felt this way, Trev. You went through trauma of your own. We experienced different sides of the same coin.”

“Let’s not make it seem like our experiences are congruent,” he forces a chuckle.

“Your experience was as traumatic to you as mine was to me though. That matters.” I convince him.

“Fine, but you’re _not_ an asshole.”

I smile at him. “Ok, but I still think I should’ve told you what happened a while ago.”

“You still can now, eh?” He suggests.

“Yeah, but I just feel like every way I can think to say it is too casual. At the same time, I don’t want to make a huge deal out of it because I just want to move on from it.” I explain.

“It doesn’t matter how you tell me,” he assures me. “It’s not going to make me think any differently of you. I’ll still love you and hate the assholes that did this to you.”

“Well then,” I inhale, “they tortured me in just about every way imaginable. You name it, they did it. They made the I.A.A interrogation techniques look like a day in paradise. The guy that you killed,” Trevor looks nervous when I say this, not knowing that Marsden won’t say anything to the cops about it and that she knows about a small number of murders we’ve committed, “he was the worst of the two. He put his hands on me wherever he wanted and got a deviant kick out of hurting me.”

“Is that the reason why you’ve been so averted to sex for four months?” He asks blankly.

“Yeah, basically, but don’t worry. Nothing ever progressed beyond that. If you had come to my rescue a minute later, I don’t know if I could still say the same thing though.”

“That doesn’t really make me feel any better. It was bad enough that it affected you, so I’m still going to harbor some ill feelings about that. You know that sex isn’t the most important part of our relationship to me, but taking into consideration how frequently we had it before and that we’re having none now concerns me. I couldn’t keep you off of me before.” He jokes. 

Blushing, I say, “Trevor, stop it. I get closer every day to being comfortable with it, but I’m still not quite there. In all honesty, I have feelings of guilt too and they occur when you try to show me physical affection. In a way, I feel like I betrayed you.”

“How could you think that?! Everything that happened to you was done against your will. I’m not angry at you; I’m angry at the dickweeds that did this and their parents for fucking up their kids big time somewhere down the line.”

“You’re not angry at me? Or even a little disgusted?” I ask.

His expression softens. “Of course not. How could you _ever_ think that any of that was your fault in the first place? There are just some really sick people in the world. Believe me, I should know. Anyway, those people are the only ones responsible for their actions. I trust you and I know you better than anyone; you had nothing to do with those guys’ bullshit. If anything, it’s my fault for getting you into that mess. It’s me they were after anyway, and they used you against me. _That’s_ something I won’t forgive.”

“You two should use your mutual unfamiliarity with forgiveness to relate to one another. You can help each other forgive.” Marsden interjects into our conversation.

“I don’t _need_ to relate to anyone. I’ve never ‘fit in’ and I never will, and I’m ok with that. I just want to talk more with Trevor, and I don’t think that issue is routed in a lack of ability to relate to one another. If we didn’t relate to each other, we never would’ve started dating. We’ve always had an unchangeable chemistry.” I stop and Marsden just stares at me, while Trevor waits for me to continue. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that we aren’t having relationship issues. We still love each other and get one another, but our relationship changes as we change and grow as people. This was just a big and difficult change.”

Dr. Marsden smiles proudly at me. “I like that perspective and I can tell you’ve done a lot of reflecting on that.”

“It’s been the elephant in the room for four months, so it’s kind of hard to avoid it. As that saying implies, we just simply aren’t voicing our concerns. Trevor and I have endured a lot of pain in our lifetimes, and I think we both became terrified of it. We used to be almost immune to it, but this time was different. It really shook us up and I think it’s because we were so used to going through a hardship side-by-side. During this last shit-show, it taught us to internalize everything for the other person’s sake because we’re unaware of what the other one went through.”

“And that’s not right. That’s not going to work.” Trevor adds.

“It’s _not_ going to work,” I repeat for emphasis and to show my agreeance. “Trevor, I want you to tell me everything and anything that bothers you the moment it starts bothering you. I want to do the same with you, but at the same time I don’t want to be treated like a wounded puppy. That shit is ending as soon as we step out of this room. I hate it when I can tell people feel sorry for me and I’m now ready to live my life to the fullest again. I don’t need you to protect me from anything, and that’s something I had to teach myself. I love you and respect everything you do for me as a husband and as the father of our child, but if you pull the shit you did again, I will do what **I** think is necessary for our family’s safety.”

“Ok, ok,” Trevor says, accepting defeat. 

“I also want to be who I used to be and I’m not letting anything get in the way of that anymore. I’m tired of feeling scared. I’m tired of all these stupid mind games. I’m tired of _being tired_!”

“Well do you think our time together has come to an end?” Marsden inquires.

“No, of course not. Just because I’ve made the decision to move on doesn’t mean that some guidance and an outside perspective on things isn’t needed. Although I’ve worked past this past traumatic event, I still have other things I want to work on. This brings me to the next subject I’d like to discuss with my husband,” I turn to face him, “North Yankton.”

He takes a quick, but deep breath in and immediately lets it out. “I thought we moved past that a while ago.”

“We’ve moved past the whole thing about Michael setting us up, but I’m talking more so about when we all had to live in that slaughterhouse together before we had enough money to leave that town. That was a rough time for all of us, but especially for you and me. We fought _so_ much during that time.” I specify.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve already taken the blame for being an idiot then, so what are you getting at?”

“There was one fight in particular that stands out in my mind. It’s probably the worst fight we’ve ever had. I really wasn’t sure if you’d hit me or not,” I scoff. 

“I’d never do that. I _was_ raised to respect women, you know. I have a mother. Well, _had_ a mother.” His eyebrows raise.

“I know that now, but we were both so lost then that anything was possible. That’s besides the point though. You said something to me during that fight that I’ve had in the back of my head for years. We’ve never talked about it since, and for some reason I’ve never brought it up.”

“You know how fucked up I was back then. I was probably high as a kite when I said whatever it was.”

“You were, but drugs never made you someone completely different. Sure, you weren’t how you normally were, but there was a weird sense of calm and brutal honesty when you smoked.”

His eyebrows crease. “What was it that I said?”

“I told you that I was hitting my limit with your false promises of giving up the meth. You said, and I quote, ‘If you’ve had it, then fucking leave.’ ”

“I said that?” He asks in disbelief, and I nod in reply. “To you?” I nod again. “I had some balls to say something like that to you. I’ll stand by what I said about being high because I never would’ve said something like that with a clear head.”

“I know you don’t mean that now, but did you mean it back then?” I ask.

“No! I was angry and you know how irrational I am when I’m angry. I’ve gotten a lot better about not saying or doing stupid things when I’m like that, but I was young, dumb, and high then.”

An obnoxious ringing tears Trevor and I out of our private moment. Marsden places her notepad and pen on the side table beside her chair. “That would be all the time we have today. I think there’s been a tremendous amount of progress already, and my advice to you both is to keep up this kind of communication outside of this room. I agree that you two really aren’t having relationship trouble, so just keep up the good work. (Your name), same time at the end of the month?” 

“Sounds good,” I force a smile and walk out of the office with Trevor, feeling like Marsden was quick to stop our session in the midst of abreakthrough.

I sign myself out on the sheet out front and as soon as I’m done doing so, Trevor grabs my hand and practically drags me out of the office. Immediately after we’ve stepped outside the large glass entry doors, he makes a hard right along the perimeter of the building. He steps over the mulch with ease in his boots, but my heels sink into it. He brushes past a bush that’s planted almost right up against the exterior wall of the building.

“Trevor! What the hell are you doing?! I’m in heels and a skirt! My legs are getting all scratched up and if you make me ruin these shoes, so help me!” 

He pulls me around the corner of the building so we’re now in the very back. Trevor pushes me up against the concrete building firmly, but not enough to hurt. There’s a wild look in his eyes before he plants a passionate kiss on my lips. “I’ll buy you new shoes,” he says just above a whisper and then goes in for another kiss. I wrap my arms around him and I feel his entwine around my lower back. 

We part for air. “What’s all this about?” I ask.

“I’m so in love with you and I always have been. Remember that, and don’t you ever forget it. I think we both put an end to a chapter today and I can’t wait to start the next one with you.”

I smile from ear-to-ear. “I second that.”

* * *

Although we shared a great moment right after we left the therapy session, Trevor doesn’t say a word the entire drive home. That makes me nervous because I know it isn’t for nothing. He’s had something on his mind, and I can tell by the way he had his elbow resting on the door and one finger resting over his top lip. 

Whatever is bothering him, he’s not saying a word. I looked over at him several times during the drive, waiting for him to confide in me. To no avail though. Silently, we both exit the truck and he storms towards the door with intent. _Oh lord_ , I think to myself. I quicken my pace to keep up with him as he trudges into the living room.

Johnny is lounging on the couch, watching a Los Santos Customs episode all about motorcycles. He flicks the tv off by the remote and stands to greet me and Trevor. As I take a few more steps into the room, Trevor stands right in front of Johnny.

“Hey, so how’d it go?” He asks politely.

Before Johnny even knows what hit him, Trevor does just that. “ _That’s_ for writing those fucking letters!” He yells. I’m in such shock that I’m frozen in place and Trevor hits Johnny over and over while he’s down. I snap out of my trance and rush over, trying to pull Trevor away from Johnny.

“Trevor! Stop it! You’re going to kill him!” I scream. I’m no match for his strength, but Trevor eventually stops on his own will.

He stands over my bloodied friend with that same blood all over his hands and white shirt. A few specks mark his face. “And _that’s_ for kissing _my_ wife,” he grumbles in a disturbingly quiet, but clearly serious tone. It sends a chill down my spine.

He walks off, to our room I guess. Johnny lays on the floor, holding the side of his face with blood seeping out from in between his fingers. I hand him a towel from the kitchen and he holds it to his nose. 

“Are you ok? Do you need anything? I’m so sorry, Johnny. I don’t know what came over him.” 

He slowly sits up and looks up at me. “It’s fine. I deserved it.”

“I’ll be back to check on you, so don’t go far and take it easy. I need to have a quick word with him.” I say sarcastically and quickly make my way to the bedroom.

When I reach the top of the stairs, the bedroom door is slightly ajar. Carefully, I push it open and close it behind me. Trevor emerges from the bathroom and doesn’t even acknowledge my presence as he peels his bloodstained shirt off and proceed to wipe the blood off his face. He disappears into the closet and I take a seat on the bed.

“Trevor?” 

“Yeah?” He calls from the closet.

“What the hell were you thinking just a few minutes ago?” I ask casually.

“I was thinking that I’m done making my thoughts and feelings take a backseat to keep the peace. I wasn’t as cool with that kiss as I played it out to be. I was fucking furious at him. I wasn’t lying when I said I trusted you and I know it was just because you were happy he was alive, but that’s not how he felt about it. I know that. He has feelings for you and they’re never going to go away, and I don’t fucking like it. So, I did something about it.” Trevor walks back into the bedroom and sees me sitting on the edge of the bed, biting my lower lip. “What’s that look about?” 

“You know what you did wasn’t the best way you could’ve handled that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he replies.

“And I know this is really fucked up of me to say, but everything you just said made it really hot.” I can feel myself beginning to blush.

He smirks. “Well I can’t say I don’t like that reaction.”

“Don’t take that as an invitation to keep displaying that kind of behavior. I’m going easy on you because I understand where you’re coming from this time, but you better be thankful that Ryan wasn’t in the room or you’d be getting an earful.”

“Ok, ok. Truce!”


	19. Fealty

My phone vibrates, moving itself a few centimeters across my nightstand. As I come to, I’m surprised that Trevor’s snoring directly by my ear isn’t what woke me up. I peek over my shoulder and past Trevor, and look at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It’s two in the morning! Who is calling at this hour? I debate on just ignoring it, but decide that whoever it is wouldn’t be calling this late if it wasn’t for a good reason. 

Looking at the screen as I pick it up from the nightstand, I see that it’s Ivy calling. She definitely wouldn’t call at this hour for no reason. Hell, she’s terrified to call me during the day with details regarding her wedding plans. Tiredly, I answer the phone and also try not to wake Trevor in the process.

“Hello?” I say quietly.

“Hey! I’m so glad you picked up! I’m really sorry to call you this late, but it’s an emergency. Is there any way you could come over to my place?” She sounds desperate and frantic.

“Right now?”

“I know that’s asking a lot, but I don’t know what to do and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“What about Floyd?” I remind her.

“No, Floyd _cannot_ hear about this right now.” She says assertively. “So can you please come over?”

I sigh and look over at Trevor, fast asleep beside me. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a few.”

We hang up and I throw on clothes that look a little more presentable than my pajamas. In the dark, I feel around the room for a pen and piece of paper. As I write out a quick note to Trevor in case he wakes up, I have a flashback to the morning all the shit hit the fan. I shake my head as if to shake away the thought and I go back to writing. I smile proudly to myself at how quickly I could get back on track after a flashback this time. Next, I find the jeans he wore last and dig the keys out of the pocket. 

Leaving the house this early in the morning and before the sun is up feels so stupid after what happened to me, but I can’t live in fear forever. I’m on guard this time and feel as though I’m ready for any potential threat. I make it to the truck, unaccosted, and make my way over to Ivy’s place. 

She meets me outside and looks as though she’s been pacing for the last hour. I hop out of the truck and she lingers as she greets me with a hug. Something is really bothering her. 

“So, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” I prompt her.

“Let’s go inside,” she says blankly. I follow her inside and she begins to pace slightly and awkwardly.

“I’m guessing Floyd is already at work?”

“Yes, and I couldn’t go back to sleep like I usually do because this is weighing heavily on my mind.”

I guide her over to the couch and we both sit down. “Well, what is it?”

“So, a few days ago I was working a graveyard shift at the diner. An ex boyfriend of mine from highschool happened to come in. Neither one of us had any idea that we both happened to move out here, so we were in such shock that we quickly struck up a conversation. No one else was in the diner around four in the morning, so I got some coffee and sat with him. We started reminiscing about high school and all the good times we had back then.”

“I don’t think I like where this is headed,” I say uncomfortably.

“I don’t like where it’s going either! He invited me to his apartment after my shift that was literally like two blocks away. We had a few drinks and I was already very tired at that point.” She pauses.

“Well,” I urge her to go on, “what happened?”

I don’t know about her, but there’s a lump that forms in my throat. The hot bile rises, burning the soft lining of my esophagus. I swallow hard, trying to get it to go away. I can’t get angry, not yet. I have to hear her say it, or not. Silently, I pray that she’ll tell me that nothing happened and she just feels extreme guilt over entertaining an old flame with mere conversation. 

“I feel _awful_ ,” she groans. “I was tired and drunk. I’m stressed out over this wedding stuff. I’ve been so lonely lately. Floyd works all fucking day, you know.” She says this angrily, like it’s his fault. _Her_ indiscretion is _his_ fault. That’s rich.

Obviously uncomfortable, I stand up and touch my hand to my forehead. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You _cheated_ on Floyd? Not only that, but a month before your wedding?!” My tone sounds much too like my mother’s when she used to scold me. I try to calm myself to avoid another occurrence of that.

“I know, I know,” but she doesn’t. “I don’t know what to do, so I called you. You’re really the only other person I have other than Floyd, and I don’t know if I should tell him or not. I was hoping you’d help me figure out what to do. So,” she lingers before the bold words escape her lips, “ can you?”

“No.” I say blankly, but firmly. “ **Nome. I do like you, Ivy. I** _want_ to be your friend, but I’ve known Floyd a lot longer and I know him a lot better. We’re friends because of him. I was around to see the relationship he was in before you.” I stop myself, wondering if it’s my place to say what I want to say next. _Fuck it,_ I think, _she’s already done the unthinkable._ “She did whatever she wanted. She cheated on him, and I swore to myself that I’d look out for him. Floyd doesn’t deserve this; he’s a great person. I wanted you to be different than her, and for a while you were. You can’t ask me to have any part in this, and as far as I’m concerned I’m don’t after I leave this room. You’re a grown woman. _You_ choose what to do. I’ll see you later, Ivy.” 

I turn without another word exchanged between us, and show myself out. The **_fucking_** audacity! I want to go back inside and hit her, but instead I get in the truck and drive back home. I remember the therapy session Trevor and I had together. He’d feel like it’s his fault if he heard that I physically harmed anyone. Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this. The last thing I needed was one more dirty thought littering my mind.

* * *

Angrily, I storm inside. Johnny is already up and sitting at the dinner table, eating a bowl of cereal. His eye is still black and nearly swollen shut, although it looks better than it did shortly after Trevor gave it to him. He has trouble getting the spoon into the bowl and then to his mouth without dripping milk all over the table. I wonder if he might need glasses for one eye. A biker with glasses, that’d be a sight. I try to retain my laughter.

I grab a dish towel off the counter and wipe up the milk and cereal he’s spilt so far. Afterwards, I place it on the table underneath the area he hovers the bowl over. He looks up at me with his good eye and gives me a thankful nod and forced smile; the kind that you give to a stranger as you pass them on a sidewalk. I tiredly plop down into the chair next to him.

“You’re up early this morning,” he says with the morning grogginess still in his voice.

“I could say the same of you. It’s Saturday; you usually sleep in today.”

“Honestly, I had a dream about Ashley. It was the day I faked my death. I could hear her screaming, leaning over what she thought was my dead body. I couldn’t get back to sleep after that.” He casually spoons more cereal into his mouth as if what he said is just your average Saturday morning occurrence. 

I give him a strange look. “Do you have dreams like that often?”

Johnny shrugs. “Often enough”

“Sometimes I have dreams like that,” I blurt out, but I can tell it comforts him. I guess that’s what I was hoping for. 

“We’ll be ok. Eventually.” He says to me, full of hope.

“We _are_ ok.” I reach across the table and grab his hand, assuring him that this is the time we’ve been waiting for all along. This is the time that we’re safe and can finally rest, but I’m actually trying to convince _myself_ of that.

* * *

I’ve been obsessive about cleaning lately. I think that it symbolizes cleaning the slate of my thoughts. I used to be concerned by it because I’d try to desperately find something to clean when there was no such thing. I’d have such nervous energy if I couldn’t clear off a table, straighten up folded clothes in a drawer, or turn the pot of a plant so that it is alignment with the ninety degree angle of a table corner. I did bring it up to Marsden, but she said it’s nothing to be worried about.

She told me, “Sometimes when you have all these different thoughts and feelings going a million miles a minute in your head, it’s nice to get a break from time to time. For example, doing something more physical rather than mental, like straightening up the house, is a great way to get a break from overthinking. So, by all means, clean!” She ended that with a little smirk on her face, and that made me smirk too. _I’m doing good._

My feet are planted firmly on top of the dresser in the bedroom, but Trevor still doesn’t trust it. He watches me anxiously, his eyes flipping back and forth between my feet and me leaning over to dust off the top of a cabinet. I can feel those nearly black pools on me even though my back is facing him.

“You can ask me to do that, you know.” He finally says.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You know I like to do things myself.”

“I know, and that bothers me,” he says sarcastically. “You’ve always been that way. Just be careful, please.”

“I always am, Trev.” I giggle.

My answer still isn’t good enough for him. I didn’t hear footsteps fading into the distance and I can still feel his eyes on me. Quickly, I try to finish dusting to appease him by getting down off the dresser. I don’t like to be watched anyway. I throw the dustrag off to the side so that I remember to add it to the dirty pile of laundry, and Trevor offers his hand to help me down off of the dresser. 

“I think we need to talk,” he says timidly.

“Uh oh. Am I in trouble?” I ask humorously. 

“Not exactly, but I’m not happy about something.”

“Ok,” I say curiously as I wipe my hands off on my jeans.

“Where were you this morning? I woke up around four and saw that note that you left me, but I heard your voice downstairs so I didn’t completely have a heart attack.”

“I was at Ivy’s. She called me around two and begged me to come over.”

He exhales with relief. “Alright, but you have to understand why that’s not the best thing to do. I thought I was having a bad dream at first when I saw that you weren’t in bed and there was a note on the nightstand.” 

“I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Why did she want you to come over at two in the morning anyway?” He inquires, and I’m not sure if I should tell him or say nothing at all.

I can’t lie to him. I won’t lie. We promised each other a long time ago not to lie and it only makes things worse anyway. He’s never been one to keep his mouth closed, so if I tell him then I can almost guarantee that he’ll tell Floyd. Trevor shares my sentiment about Floyd: look out for him and protect him from bitches like Debra. He’ll never admit that to anyone else though.

“Trevor, you _cannot_ say _anything_ to Floyd if I tell you.”

He laughs as he takes a seat on the bed. He thinks I’m joking. “Ok. Did she fuck around on him or something?” Anxiously, I stand before him and play with the frayed edge of the pocket on my pants. All amusement leaves his face when he sees how serious mine is. “Oh shit. She did. That doesn’t explain why she wanted you there though.”

“She wanted me to help her decide on whether she should tell Floyd or not.” I say with annoyance in my voice.

Trevor scoffs. “What’d you tell her?”

“I basically told her that I didn’t want any part of it because it’s not fair to ask me to keep something like that from Floyd. I mean, we know him better anyway. I said that after I left that room, I know nothing.” 

Trevor giggles. “Yeah, I thought you’d say something along those lines. I think you did the right thing though. The only problem is you still know regardless, and now I do too. I’m not going to say anything to him; it’s neither of our places. I have to admit that I really didn’t see her being that type. She seemed different and _nice_.”

“Well, I think she’s still a nice person. She just made a mistake, and one she feels really bad about. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. I’m not defending her and I’m not saying what she did was acceptable, I’m just saying that life puts you in weird situations.”

“That’s fair, I guess. All I know is that I also don’t want to have anything to do with it. From now on, it’s solely Ivy’s problem.” He says definitively. “But seriously, what’s her problem? Aren’t they getting married soon?”

“Yeah, in a month.” I verify regretfully. “That I’ll admit is fucked up.” Downstairs, the doorbell rings and Trevor looks at me with confusion. “That would be Amanda!”

His eyebrow raises. “You haven’t hung out with her in awhile.”

“I haven’t _spoken_ to her in awhile. Michael told her to give me time, but she texted me a few days ago saying that she was really worried. Besides, I finally feel like I’m in a place where I can handle everyone’s questions. I figured it’d be best to have her over to show her that everything is ok.” I explain to Trevor.

“Ok, I trust your judgment. Have fun! You deserve it. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen feeding little man his lunch.” Trevor and I exit our bedroom. He heads towards Ryan’s room and I go downstairs. 

Amanda’s silhouette fidgets on the other side of the frosted glass. She hasn’t changed a bit in the better half of a year that I haven’t seen her. I try to take as long as I can to open the door to give myself some time to think about what to say to her. I can see her shadow’s posture stiffen as I begin to open the door. 

The door swings open and both of us stand there, just staring at each other. I almost think I see tears welling up in Amanda’s eyes, and then she lunges forward and throws her arms around me. When was the last time I had a hug like this? A hug full of longing and loving concern. The day Trevor and I showed up on my dad’s doorstep after all those years; that’s the last time I felt this way.

Tears begin to form in my eyes and I can feel her grip tighten on me. We embrace for a moment longer and then part to dab at our eyes. We just look at each other and smile. Trevor comes down the stairs behind us with Ryan in his arms.

“Hey, Amanda. Long time, no see.” Trevor says sarcastically. He looks to our son again, lifts his little arm up, and waves to Amanda vicariously. 

Amanda smiles, but it’s not as happy as it should be. I can see the pain in her eyes due to how much she’s missed all of us. Just now am I truly learning how hard the week I was gone was on everyone around me. I wasn’t as alone as I thought I was, and I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.

Amanda speaks first. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m used to Michael getting up to all sorts of shenanigans and not telling me about it, so don’t feel like you need to explain anything to me. I’m just so happy and relieved to see that you’re ok.”

I hug her again. “Honestly, it’s good for me to talk to someone other than Trevor and my therapist about it. You’re my best friend, Amanda; I tell you everything. Plus, I know you’re dying to know.”

She laughs as she brushes a tear away from her eye. “You know me so well!”

“Well, come on in and we can get all settled in the living room like old times.” She follows me into the small room past the dining room and we both sit on the couch.

“So, you’re in therapy?” She circles back around to that.

“Yeah,” I sigh dejectedly. “I wasn’t coping very well with what happened. Trevor suggested it during a fight, but it was the right thing to do. I was so out of touch that I couldn’t see that how I was living was no way to live at all. I couldn’t really leave the house, I had flashbacks all the time, and Trevor couldn’t even touch me without me freaking out. It was _bad_.”

Her eyes widen. “Jesus. I don’t want to force the issue, but what the hell happened?”

“Michael didn’t tell you anything at all?” 

“No, he was very adamant that you should be the one to tell me when you were ready. I could tell something was going on, and he told me to just let you and Trevor have your space. He said he couldn’t put into words what he saw.”

“To make a long story short, this psycho from Grapeseed was stalking Trevor and I and making our lives hell. When we dropped Ryan off at your house this last time, it was because we were going to hide out in Chumash. I was stupid and thought I could run to the convenience store early in the morning by myself before Trevor woke up, but they were just waiting for an opportunity for Trevor and I to be separated. They knew where we were the entire time.”

Amanda watches with intense attention and senses my discomfort. “You really don’t have to go on if you don’t want to.”

“But I do. I had to pick myself up and carry on when this was happening, and I need to carry on telling the story. The bastards held me at gunpoint and took me to a warehouse where I stayed for a week. I’ll spare you the graphic details, but when they found me I was skinnier, bloodied, and black and blue. When I looked in the mirror for the first time after all that, I didn’t even recognize myself. It was really hard, but it’s ok.” 

“How is any of that ‘ok’?!” Amanda stresses.

“I’m alive, and that’s more than what I thought I’d get. What they did to me was not ok, but I’ve had to teach myself how to forgive. That’s something I only just learned how to do and it has changed how I look at other problems I’ve had in my life.”

She looks at me strangely. “You are stronger and more mature than I.”

I laugh. “You’re stronger than you think you are. We’ve just led very different lives.”

“That’s an understatement, but I’m very curious about how you’ve managed to adjust! You seem as though nothing ever happened. I don’t think I’d be nearly as put together as you are if I went through the same thing.”

I shrug. “I’m very grateful for therapy,” I say jokingly, “but in all seriousness, Amanda, you _do_ have to relearn how to live life. I mean, it’s taken us about _six months_ to hang out again. It’s never going to be the same after going through something like that, but that doesn’t mean it has to be the end of enjoying life. It’s hard, but you have to grow and move on. Sure, I have my bad days, but I still get up in the morning and feel so grateful to wake up to Trevor beside me and I still have things I look forward to each day. It’s a progress, but that doesn’t mean I have to be miserable.”

She shakes her head. “You’re not a real person. You’re like a superhero. I mean, I didn’t know how you got through Michael screwing you over in North Yankton so gracefully, but this is something brand new. How do you continue to beat the odds? I just don’t get it.”

“I’m just as baffled as you are. I know it sounds cheesy, but Trevor really has made it that much easier for me. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s the one that got me out of that mess and he really has been patient with me through this healing process. We’ve had our fights, but he really has been my rock through all of this.”

“Well that’s perfectly normal. Has he been helping out with Ryan more?” She asks.

“Oh yeah! He was such a big help before everything too though, but he flat out told me to be selfish and take care of myself first before jumping right back into taking care of Ryan. It sounds bad, but I really needed that time to sort myself out. I spent so much time being angry that he didn’t get to me faster than he did and that he didn’t take me more seriously with all the weird stuff that was going on, and that made me fail to see that Trevor _is_ being the man I need him to be, but I have to let him.”

“I’m so glad to hear that he’s taking care of you, like a good husband should,” she gives my knee a comforting pat. “How are you _really_ feeling though?”

“Tired, mostly. I really am fine though, Amanda. I’m happier than I have been in months. I still have a long way to go, but I am truly happy.” I say as I choke up and tears come to my eyes. Amanda scooches in closer to me and rubs my back in slow circles. “I really can’t explain the feeling of going to bed with my husband’s arms around me or the feeling of holding my son and seeing him smile. I never thought I’d have either of those things ever again and now I see them as even more special as I did before, and it makes me _so_ fucking happy.”

Amanda smiles at me with tears in her eyes too. “Oh honey, you’ve just been through hell and back,” she says in an oddly comforting and affirmative way.

“It was my dream to move here to the city, but it’s been on difficult thing after another. Don’t get me wrong, I love it here and can’t picture us living anywhere else, but it’s been so goddamn hard. I just want **one** fucking week without anyone’s life being in danger and everyone getting along within the house.” Tensely, I rub my forehead. “We did this to ourselves though. Trevor and I have made a lot of enemies because of the career path we chose to pursue. I can’t even be angry that all this shit happens to us because we knew what we were getting ourselves into.”

“Well don’t feel guilty. I get so frustrated at Michael, but I knew the kind of man he was before I married him. I knew what kind of life I was signing up for. So, I get it.” She sighs.

I pause before blurting out the question, “Is it bad if I admit that I kind of like the chaos?” 

“No,” she answers plainly. “I get that too.”

“I wish I didn’t so that I could live a more normal life for Ryan’s sake, but it’s like I’m addicted to being in danger. I have the option to tell Trevor that he needs to give up his black market business and that we need to try to be normal, but I’d never do that. I can’t, and I hate that. I’m sorry I’m unloading all of this on you out of the blue.”

“Don’t be silly! I haven’t seen you in months, so we have a lot of stuff to unload and catch each other up on. This is going to sound really narcissistic, but I feel like I’m the only one that gets what it’s like to live your lifestyle. By no means have we had the same life, but I get what it’s like to be addicted to danger, or get cheap thrills by breaking the law, or being in love with someone that enables all of that. We’re a rare breed, but thank god we have each other. I don’t think I could’ve stayed sane if I didn’t have someone to relate to about all of that. Those ten years without you were possibly the worst of my life.” 

“Stop it! You’re going to make me cry,” I playfully hit her arm. “I missed talking to you so much these past few months. I thought about you a lot, but I never knew what to say.”

“You never have to explain anything to me. Please remember that. You don’t owe me any explanation, ever. I will always be there for you, and I’ll always be at least a phone call away.”

“I know that, but I really wasn’t myself when I first came back home. Trevor and Johnny can attest to that. God, and I feel so terribly guilty because I _stilldoes_ talk to my dad to sort of keep the wolves at bay, but he also doesn’t know what to say. He ends up just reassuring my dad over and over that I’m alive and I’m ok, but I just need some time. I know he feels like a total dick telling my dad that I need time, like I need it away from him or something. I feel so bad, but I’m just not ready.”

“That’s fine, you know,” she assures me. “However, you’re going to have to be ready at some point. He’s your dad. Not to mention, you’re the reason he moved to this city. He’s not going to be around forever, so don’t let anymore time go between without communicating with him. You already ran off when you were a teenager for about twenty years. I think you’ve given him the silent treatment enough.”

“You’re right. I know you are, but what exactly do I tell my dad when he asks questions. He’s going to demand answers, unlike everyone else. He’s the one person that I do owe answers.”

She sits quietly beside me, trying to think of what I could possibly say to my recently estranged father. “I think you’re overthinking this, to be honest. I was going to suggest making up some story, but that’s not going to help anyone. ‘The truth will set you free’, that’s what Michael likes to quote all the time; even though he doesn’t always follow that. Anyway, I think you should just sit your dad down and tell him the truth. Just like with me, you don’t have to go into extreme detail.”

“Well fuck.” We both laugh. “I was hoping you’d tell me to make up a story because that’s what I was leaning towards, and if you agreed then I’d feel less guilty about it!”

“The younger, stupid Amanda would’ve told you to make up a story. I like to think I’m wiser now than I was, and wise people would always stick to the truth. What’s the worst that could come from it?”

I slump down on the couch. “I haven’t really given it a lot of thought. I’ve been so worked up over planning this fucking wedding.”

“Who’s getting married?” Her brow creases.

“Oh, that’s right. I have a whole lot more to fill you in on. So, Floyd, a friend of mine and Trevor’s, just recently got engaged. Right before I went missing, he introduced us to his fianceé, Ivy. He never said a word about her to us beforehand, but I was really excited for him. He asked me to plan their wedding, and I accepted. They know nothing about that week I was gone, so I had to pick up right where I left off like nothing ever happened. I’ve hung out with Ivy a few times and she seemed like a nice enough girl.”

“Seemed?” Amanda points out.

“Just this morning she calls me at like two, and is begging me to come over. Reluctantly, I go over and she’s obviously very nervous. So, we go inside and she tells me that she hooked up with her ex-boyfriend from high school. Oh, and her and Floyd are supposed to get married in a month!”

“What a skank!” Amanda says with disbelief. “I’ve only met Floyd a handful of times, but he seems like a really nice and quiet guy.”

“He is!”

“So what did she want you over there for?”

“She wanted me to help her decide on whether or not she should tell Floyd.”

“Oh _hell_ no! I hope you bitch-slapped her so fucking hard.” It’s like Amanda is a video game boss that gains a power level with every new piece of drama.

“I didn’t, because I do like her even though she made a big mistake. She knows she made a mistake too, and she seems genuinely torn up about it. I told Trevor about it earlier, and I do feel bad just for talking about it now. I told her I couldn’t help her.”

“That’s probably for the best. You have nothing to do with it anyway.”

“That’s what Trevor said.”

Another pause falls over us, forcing us into deep thought. Amanda finally says, “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but how is he holding up?”

“He’s doing really well, much better than I am. I don’t know how he’s managing to be such a good dad and also baby me too. He has definitely been the strong one. At first, he didn’t really talk to me about how he was feeling because he felt so much guilt over it. My therapist actually had him come in for a session and I think it helped clear the air for the most part. We’re talking openly again like we used to, but I can tell he’ll always feel guilt and try to overcompensate for what happened.” I tell her.

She giggles. “I don’t think I’d believe you if you told me Trevor went to a therapy session with you if both of you hadn’t gone to that one with Michael. I have to say, he’s _really_ stepped it up. He’s still the same crazy Trevor, but he’s really there for the people he cares about.”

“Amanda, he’s always been that way. He just has a larger-than-life personality and I think that was quite a shock to you when you first met him. He can be intimidating at first, but after you learn his quirks he’s a really great person that just has a lot on his plate.”

“I guess you’re right. It did take me awhile to warm up to him. I really didn’t understand how you could be with someone like him, but he really is a great husband to you and a great father to Ryan. I wish Michael was half as helpful as Trevor is when we had kids. Being so young, I really could’ve used the help.” Amanda rolls her eyes in a playful manner at the thought of her husband. She gets a text message and quickly checks her phone with a nervous energy. “Shit. I gotta go. Tracey’s car broke down so I have to pick her up from school.”

“That’s ok,” I assure her.

“I know, but I haven’t seen you in months and I feel like I need to hang out with you as much as possible before the next time life gets hectic.”

We walk to the door together. “You know you’re _always_ welcome here. You, Michael, Jimmy, and Tracey are all welcome here at anytime. I promise we’ll get back to hanging out regularly. It’s just that initial visit that’s the hardest.”

“I know what you mean.” She hugs me. “I’ll call you soon to schedule a day of shopping.”

I smile as she walks down the front steps. “That sounds wonderful, and it’s much needed. Say hi to Tracey for me!” 

“Will do!” Before she gets in her red convertible, she blows me a kiss.

When I head back inside, Trevor is leaning against the archway to the dining room. His arms are crossed and there’s a faint smirk on his face. There’s no telling what this is about. He uncrosses his arms to make things feel less confrontational and stick his hands in his pockets.

“I heard what you both said,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Oh?”

“About me,” he clarifies. “Amanda never thought _I’d_ go to a therapy session and I never thought _she’d_ like me. And thank you, for everything you said.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

He slowly walks up to me and embraces me, resting his cheek on the top of my head. “It’s nice to hear that I’m being helpful when I don’t always feel like I’m stepping up to the plate. Also, you stood up for me.”

“She wasn’t saying anything nasty about you.”

“No, but she never thought I could be the person you and Ryan need. You told her I’ve always been that person.”

“Oh, Trevor. That was nothing.”

He kisses my forehead. “Well it wasn’t ‘nothing’ to me, so thank you.”

* * *

“Dinner is served,” I smile playfully as I set a plate in front of Johnny and Trevor.

They dig in silently. Trevor has an unusual stoicness about him tonight and Johnny just seems like he’s stuck in a state of humbleness. That one swollen eye makes him look a lot more sad than he actually is, and it makes me want to hit him too. There’s no more room for sadness as far as I’m concerned, whether it’s real or imagined. 

Things haven’t been the same since the very one-sided altercation Trevor forced Johnny into. It’s not my place to say anything or make them reconcile, so we all eat our dinner in silence. As much as I hate it, I have a new appreciation for letting people work through things on their own. It may not hit them today or tomorrow, but it will hit them eventually.

After dinner, I load the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and corral Trevor upstairs to talk. Johnny stays downstairs and parks himself in front of the tv. Trevor waltzes into our room, unsuspecting of why I want him alone.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He says as he relaxes onto the bed.

“I think you should apologize to Johnny.”

“I know you do. I thought about it though, and I decided I don’t want to. Besides, he understands why I did what I did.” He replies blankly.

“That’s not the point, Trevor. You know Johnny’s a good guy and would never do anything to intentionally hurt either one of us. Those letters were private and he didn’t think anyone would ever see them.”

“I don’t think Johnny would do anything to hurt us _now_ ,” Trevor implies that Johnny would have at some point.

“Trevor, he’s allowed to have feelings no matter how troublesome they are.”

“I agree, but he’s not allowed to have feelings about _my_ wife.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s over that. He was so bent out of shape about Ashley’s death and we both were overwhelmed with all sorts of feelings when we saw each other again.”

“I believe that’s where _your_ mind was at, but it was more to him. You don’t understand that, but I do.” 

“I will only say this one more time-”

A sharp knocking on our bedroom door disturbs our conversation. Trevor and I look at each other with confusion. I open the door and Johnny hands me my vibrating cellphone. 

“Sorry to intrude, but whoever is calling rings back everytime it goes to voicemail.”

“Ok, thank you, Johnny.” I close the door again and sit on the bed beside my husband. “It’s Ivy,” I groan. “Hello?...Slow down..Ivy, I ca-...I can’t understand you... Hold on, I’ll be right there.” 

“What was that about?” Trevor asks curiously as I move to the closet to get my shoes.

“I don’t know. She was crying hysterically and I couldn’t understand her, but I did get the part where she begged me to come over again.” I sigh.

“It’s almost midnight.” Trevor says, as if I don’t know.

“I’m aware, but I also don’t want a murder-suicide on my hands.” I joke darkly. As I walk back into the bedroom, Trevor is standing near the door and holding out the truck keys for me. I grab them from him and kiss him. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

While I’m driving over to Ivy’s again for the second time within a 24 hour period, I begin to have feelings of being taken advantage of. I don’t like that, and I know myself all too well. I’m most likely going to sit back and try to avoid any confrontation considering I’m planning their wedding, but at some point my anger will boil over like a forgotten pot of water on a stove. 

As soon as Ivy sees headlights, she’s outside to greet me. Her phone is gripped tightly in on of her hands and she’s sobbing with tears staining her cheeks. It’s a pitiful sight, and I have to retain laughter.

“Are you alright?” I ask her.

“No! I told Floyd and he’s gone out somewhere! He won’t return my calls or texts! I’m worried about him! He wasn’t in a good state of mind when he left.” She tells me hysterically.

I rub my forehead and start walking back towards the truck. “Ok, you go inside. Go to bed. You need to sleep.”

“What? Where are you going?” 

I stop and turn around to look at her, “To get Floyd before he has alcohol poisoning.”


	20. Ties

The club seems more dismal than I remember it, but that’s probably due to the soft drizzle of rain, the slow and quiet music, and the sparse amount of patrons. Just as I suspected, Floyd is sitting at the bar. Maybe _slumped_ over the bar is a better way to put it. The new girl he hired to tend the bar is trying to make sure he’s ok, but he won’t even look at her. She notices me approaching the bar.

“Take a break,” I insist, “I’ve got him.”

“Thank you.” She says sounding extremely thankful and tired. 

I slide into the seat next to Floyd and wait for him to want to talk. Nothing is worse than someone nagging you to talk about something you’d rather forget. He continues to stare out into space, but he finally moves. He takes another healthy swig of the beer he keeps his hand clasped around. When he sets it back down, I can tell that it’s empty from the hollow, metallic _clank_ it emits as it makes contact with the counter.

“Trinity!” He calls for the bartender. “Can I get another beer?!” 

“Floyd, I just sent her on break. Besides, I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’m a grown man! _I_ get to decide when I’ve had enough!” He yells at me. “I’m sorry,” Floyd shakes his head like he has to shake off an alternate personality that just took over. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’m just-” He searches for an appropriate word.

“Upset? Angry? Hurt?” I answer.

He nods. “Yeah, an uncomfortable mixture of all of those. So I’m guessing she called you and told you?”

“Yeah,” I sigh, “she did. Words can’t express how sorry I am that this is happening. I never saw it coming and I’m sure you didn’t either.” I get up and grab another beer from behind the counter for him and one for me. 

“That’s an understatement,” he scofs. “I’m startin’ to think something is wrong with me. Every woman I date ends up being exactly the same as the last! I’m tired of it! I’m tired of people walking all over me like I’m their doormat!” He rests his head on the bar. “I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Floyd. You have to mirror what you want to attract though. I’m not going to sugarcoat it: you pick the wrong women.” I bluntly tell him. “You need to decide how you feel though, about her.”

His eyes gloss over and he blinks hard to fight back the tears. “I still love her, but I wish I didn’t. I don’t want to be with someone capable of hurtin’ me this bad, but she was perfect up to this point. She was so perfect that we were getting married! I should’ve known it was too good to be true.” He rubs his forehead.

“The one thing you have to decide is if you can forgive her and move on or if this is a dealbreaker for you. I know it seems impossible, but trust me when I say it won’t always be. You’ll know the answer and you’ll know exactly how you feel one day.”

“How soon?”

I shrug, “I don’t have an answer for that. It could be a day from now, a week from now, or five years from now. No matter how long it takes you is ok, Floyd.”

“I don’t have five years. I don’t _want_ it to take five years. We were supposed to get married at the end of this month. God, that really pisses me off every time I think of it. She had all that time to hurt me and she chose the month before we’re supposed to get married.” I can tell he tenses up with anger as he says that.

“I guess the silver lining, if there is one, is that she did it before you got married. If you decide that you can’t move on, then at least you have that freedom instead of going through a divorce.”

“Yeah, I guess that is a good thing. I’m just havin’ trouble understandin’ why she even would do such a thing. I love her with my whole heart, and she knows that. I tell her all the time! Excuse my vulgarity, but it’s not like things are bad in the bedroom.”

I giggle. “Honestly, I think alcohol had a lot to do with it. Alcohol and old romances _never_ mix well.”

‘Yeah, but I’m drunk right now! That doesn’t mean I’m gonna go cheat on her! It’s not like I don’t have options; look where we are.” He outstretches his arms.

“True, but I think there’s a lot more to it than that. I think the upcoming wedding was probably weighing on her more than we thought, and she probably thought it was a chance to make sure this is something she really wants to do. Honestly, I think your work schedule is super tough on her. You need to pick one job and make more time for homelife.”

“I’ve thought about that, but I want to give her the life she deserves. By working part time here and part time at the docks, I can give her that.” 

“Floyd, she’s alone at night. She goes to bed without you there beside her, and she wakes up that way. You don’t understand how that feels. You need to be at home with her more often. I honestly had no idea that you started working at the docks again, and I really wish you told us. If you want to keep working there, Trevor and I will understand. I can talk to him about giving you another raise if you want to keep working for us, but you need to make a decision.”

“I like working here at the club a lot more than I like working at the docks, but I would need that raise to afford the house we want to move into and she doesn’t exactly like the thought of me surrounded by nearly nude women for a majority of the day.” He timidly admits.

“Well, two things sound very clear to me: One, it sounds like you’ll be working here full-time, and two, it sounds a lot like you’re still planning on a life with her.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. I do still love her, but it’s not going to be that easy for me to move past this. I want to though. I think I am gonna need some time to think about all of this and figure some things out because I’m going to have to lay down the law on a few things.”

“You’re definitely not driving, so let’s go back to my house and you can sleep it off. You know you’re always welcome to stay with us.” I get up and help him to his feet.

I drape one of his arms around my neck to steady him. He nearly makes me fall a few times on the way to the truck by flinching as if he’s going to fall. Finally, I manage to get him into the passenger seat of the truck. I send Ivy a quick text, telling her that he’s ok and that he’s crashing at my place. 

Floyd is nearly asleep as I pull into the driveway, and Trevor comes outside with a look of concern on his face. “That took a lot longer than you made it sound like. I’m guessing he’s staying here?”

“Yes. Can you help him to the auxiliary room upstairs? I’ll go up in the attic and get the cot.” I say as I struggle to get Floyd out of the truck.

“Yeah. Is he ok? Here, I’ll get him.”

“He’s as ok as you can expect when your spouse tells you they’ve been unfaithful and you go out for a night of drinking.” I reply sarcastically.

I leave Trevor to help Floyd into the house and up the stairs, which I really don’t know how Trevor is going to accomplish that. Floyd is basically already passed out. I run up the stairs and pull the thin cord down from the ceiling, revealing a ladder up to the attic. Quickly, I climb up and call for Johnny. 

He appears at the bottom of the ladder, peering up at me with his one good eye. “Yeah?”

“Can you grab this for me and take it to the room at the end of the hall?”

“Sure thing,” he says. I hand him the folded cot through the opening in the floor and climb down.

Trevor and Floyd are nearly at the top of the stairs when I manage to get back down. I fold up the ladder and the panel flips back up into the ceiling. I beat them to the auxiliary room and unfold the cot. Trevor comes in, practically dragging Floyd in and lowers him onto the cot. From the linen closet in the hall, I retrieve an extra pillow and some thin blanket. 

“Jesus,” Trevor says as he stands over Floyd, looking down at his limp body. “Are you sure he’s going to be ok?”

“Yeah,” I say as I push the pillow underneath Floyd’s head. “He’s on his side, so he should be fine. Maybe get the trash can from the bathroom and place it next to him.” 

Trevor does so as I pull Floyd’s shoes off and cover him with the blankets. With a look of disgust on his face, Trevor puts the trashcan next to Floyd. I turn the lights out and Trevor and I walk back to our bedroom at the opposite end of the hall. He closes the door and leans against it.

Trevor looks at his watch. “It’s almost three in the morning.”

“Is it really?!” I say with disbelief. “I guess I was gone longer than I thought. Oh well. I am tired though, so come get in bed.” I kick off my shoes, crawl in bed, and pat his space beside me.

He flicks the lights off in our room and gets into bed next to me. “Are you going to fill me in on what happened?” He asks just above a whisper.

“I’ll give you the abridged version. She called, hysterical, because she told Floyd, and he was understandably upset, and left to go drink at the Vanilla Unicorn. I sat with him and talked for awhile, and then I drove him back here.”

“So are they still getting married?”

“I think so, but let’s wait to see how he feels when he’s sober later today. He said he still loves her, but he’s really hurt. I think they’ll be ok though.” I breathe out as if taking a sigh of relief. 

Trevor looks over at me, laying beside him. “I want them to get married. I’ll fucking kill him if he ends this relationship.”

I laugh. “You’re ok with being unfaithful? Good to know.”

“No, not at all! You know that. However, I think Ivy is good for him. She fucked up, but she is _nothing_ like Debra. Also, don’t you dare tell him I said any of this.”

I pretend to zip my lips, but I can’t help but smile. “I was just joking with you, Trev. I agree with you.”

* * *

“Good morning,” I say in a teasing way as Floyd lumbers into the kitchen, rubbing his eye.

“Good morning,” he replies. “I want to apologize for last night. She shouldn’t have called you and dragged you into our mess, and it wasn’t your responsibility to take care of me.”

“Oh, stop it, Floyd. You’re our friend, and honestly you’re a part of this family. It wasn’t a big deal at all. Would you like some coffee?”

“Please.”

I take a cup out of the cupboard and pour hot coffee into it. He takes a seat at the dinner table and I hand him the cup. “Any cream or sugar?”

“No, I take it black. Thank you, by the way.” He says as he takes a sip.

I grab my own cup of coffee and sit next to him at the table. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better. Well, I feel better physically. Mentally speaking, I feel just as bad. I got a break from that while I was sleeping, but as soon as you wake up all those thoughts come rushing back and hit you like a sack of bricks.” 

“I know that feeling.” 

Trevor walks into the room, holding Ryan. He hands our son to me so that he can prepare to feed Ryan his breakfast. Floyd watches as he sips his coffee and Ryan stares at the new stranger in the house. 

“He sure has gotten big.” Floyd notes.

“Oh, I know. They really do grow fast. He’ll be two in a few months.” I look at him proudly and he’s still staring down Floyd. “It’s ok, sweetie. It’s just Uncle Floyd.”

“Will he cry if I hold him?”

Surprised, I answer, “No. He doesn’t cry very much at all. He’s just trying to figure you out right now.” I get up and pass Ryan over to Floyd. 

Floyd holds him like he’s very fragile and will break with any sudden movement. It makes me smile because it reminds me of the first time Trevor held his son. I wish I had that moment recorded so I could watch the pure and unconditional love cross his face over and over again. Ryan reaches up to touch Floyd’s face, which is how he gets to know people. Floyd smiles down at him, and Ryan returns it.

“He likes you,” I tell Floyd.

“Babies are like puppies; they like everyone.” Floyd rejects my statement.

“That’s not true. You’ll learn that if you have kids.” 

“She’s right,” Trevor adds as he sets a small bowl of fruit on Ryan’s highchair. “I don't think Ryan was a big fan of Michael at first. Which I can’t really blame him for.” He jokes. He takes Ryan from Floyd and puts him in the highchair, and begins to feed him.

“Floyd, I want to let you know that you can stay here as long as you need to. We can clean that room out and make it a proper room for you if you want to.” I say.

“Thank you, both of you. Y’all have done so much for me. I don’t think I’ll be here that long though. If you don’t mind, I’d probably be here another night or two, but that’s it.” He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts and formulate them into sentences. “I’m not going to leave her.”

Trevor and I look at each other and I grip my coffee cup tighter. “Oh?” I try to play it casual, but inside I’m extremely excited.

“I gave myself some time to think about it with a clear head this morning. It was really out of character for her to do something like that, so I’ve decided that I want to talk about it with her and maybe even go to couple’s counselling. She made a big mistake, but she really is good for me. We both really love each other and I don’t want to give up on her.”

“That’s great to hear,Floyd. Good for you.” I smile. “You should call her.”

“I thought about that, but I wasn’t sure.”

“She’s probably worried about you, so if for nothing else just call her to tell her that you’re ok. Let her know that you’ll be here for a few more days. Just be honest with her. That’s the best policy.” I suggest.

“I will then. Right now.” He gets up from the table and takes his coffee with him. Floyd disappears upstairs and we hear the door shut.

“Well I’d say that went pretty well,” Trevor says happily. “What do you think, Ryan?” 

Ryan emits an infantile, “Daddy” as he reaches for more food.

Trevor looks at me. “He agrees.”

* * *

I walk out onto the small, tiled porch to get the mail. Everytime I open the front door, I can’t help but stare at one section of the tile that has a faded, rust-colored stain. It used to make me feel so angry, but now it makes me feel triumphant. Not only at the amount I was able to clean up, but that I am standing here, looking at the remnants of one of the biggest challenges I’ve faced. 

Energetically, I walk down the steps and down the long driveway to the mailbox. After I’ve retrieved it, I rummage through the pile to sort the ‘crap mail’ from the ‘not crap mail’, as my father used to say. Johnny quietly fiddles with his Hexer near the garage, not paying any mind to the happenings around him.

It seems as though he’s trying not to acknowledge anything. It’s like he wants to fade into the background and be forgotten, but that’s not going to happen as long as I’m here. Quietly, I approach him from the other side of the bike with the pile of mail in my hand.

“What’s up, Johnny K?” I inquire with a playful air.

He looks up at me like he didn’t see me approaching. “Nothing. Just cleaning and shining up the Hexer.”

“Well, I could tell that just by looking. You know what I meant though. How _are_ you, Johnny?”

Again, he looks up at me. Only one eye is completely open while the other is still bruised. I really can’t stand the way he looks at me now. “I’m fine.”

Annoyed, I roll my eyes. I walk around to his side of the bike and, with my free hand, I grab him by his wrist and pull him into the shade of the garage. “Talk to me, Johnny. I feel like you’ve barely talked to me this week.”

“I guess I just don’t have much to say.”

My hands rest on my hips. “We both know that’s bullshit. Come on, Johnny. You’re my best friend. You can talk to me about _anything_.”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Things are just different and I guess I’m just having a rough adjustment period. 

“Is that what you call sleeping in past noon when you’re such a punctual person? Is that what you call not going into work unless you absolutely have to when you previously were barely seen at home? Is that what you call barely speaking to me or even looking at Trevor?” I ask him rhetorically.

He looks down at his hands as he fidgets uncomfortably with the dirt and oil under his nails. “You know why I’m not looking at Trevor.” He looks up at me. “I’m not saying that I don’t understand why he did what he did or that it was unjustified, but the three people that I didn’t want to know my dirty little secret _know_ my dirty little secret. It’s causing problems just like I knew it would if anyone found out. I’m such a fucking idiot. I should’ve burned those letters before Trevor and I carried out the plan.” He shakes his head disappointedly at himself.

I place a hand on his arm and look up into his eyes. “Is it really such a dirty little secret to care about someone?”

“No, but it is when she’s the best friend of your girlfriend and her boyfriend is total psychopath that can disembowel you with a ballpoint pen in his sleep.” He spouts off.

I can’t help but let a giggle escape. “Don’t let Trevor intimidate you now. You never did when you were the president of The Lost, so why now?”

“Because he clearly still has some ill feelings about how I used to feel about you. Like I said, I never wanted you, him, or Ashley to know. None of you were supposed to know. Do either of you know how embarrassing that is for me?”

I smile. “Never be embarrassed because of your feelings, Johnny. Trevor really is understanding of everything. He knows you were devoted to Ashley and he knows that I’m devoted to him, but you also know that he’s an angry person. As understanding as he is about all that stuff, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have his own feelings about it.”

“I know, and that’s why I said I understand why he did this,” he points at his black eye, “but I still feel like it’s a sin or something to just talk to you.” 

“Ok,” I sigh, “look, Trevor _does_ feel bad. He feels really awful about it, but he won’t apologize. He feels like it’s going to show you that it’s ok if he apologizes, but I want to apologize to you _for_ him. You deserve that, but don’t let him determine how you live and interact in this house.”

He purses his lips. “Ok. Thanks for saying that.”

I give him supportive pat on the back. “You’re ok, Johnny. Remember that.” 

I head back inside through the door in the garage. I go into the kitchen and proceed to throw away all the ‘crap mail’ and leave the things that Trevor needs to see on the kitchen counter. As I go upstairs to see where everyone is, Trevor calls me into our bedroom.

“You called?” I say sarcastically as I lounge onto the bed.

“I did,” he answers just as sarcastically as he sits next to me on the bed. There’s a strange look in his eyes and he makes unwavering eye contact with me.

“So, what did you want?” I ask.

He slides his hand along the bed until it meets mine, and he takes it in his. “I love you.”

I smile. “I love you too.”

He leans in and kisses me very softly. The gentleness of it takes me off guard slightly. It doesn’t feel anything like how he usually kisses me. I’m used to him being a little more aggressive with it so that I can feel the strong passion he’s trying to contain. This is different, but also very much the same.

I can feel the passion behind it, but I can also feel every emotion of his behind it. I can feel his adolescent jitteriness of being alone in our bedroom with me, I can feel the repressed sexual tension, I can feel the anger, and I can feel a sense of sorrow. It tells me a story that I’m otherwise unaware of.

“Are you ok?” I quietly ask him, careful to watch his expression.

At first, he doesn’t answer me. He catches on to the fact that he’s given himself away, and averts his eyes. “For the most part, but you told me to be more open with you so I’m trying that out.”

“What’s wrong?” I scoot closer to him and lean on his shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I know you love being surrounded by friends and family, so I’ve been debating on even bringing this up to you. Don’t get me wrong, I love having all the people we care about around us too.”

“Just spit it out, Trev.”

“Ok, ok! After Floyd goes back to Ivy, I think we should ask Johnny to stay at the beach house in Chumash for a little bit.” 

“You’re going to have to explain.”

“Well, I just need some time with you. Ever since he moved in with us, we haven’t had our own house to ourselves. As much as I love staying in Chumash, sometimes I just want to be alone with you _here_. I don’t think Johnny will mind. Who would pass up the chance to go on vacation?”

“If we ask, he’ll go. It is our house after all. He’s been feeling so on edge ever since you had your little outburst and I just don’t want him to feel like we’re trying to get him to go away.”

“Would that really be such a bad thing? He’s like the thirty-year-old kid that never moved out of mom and dad’s house. I mean, we’re a married couple and now we have a kid of our own, but your friend lives with us.”

“Trevor, why is this coming up now? _You’re_ the one who had him move here to begin with.” I remind him.

“Yeah, but I really thought that was temporary. I thought eventually he’d find some new girl and move into his own place. Instead, I feel like he’s mooching off of everything _I_ have. Think about it: he’s living under my roof, I gave him a job, and he had feelings for you.”

“I get it now,” I say coldly. “You lied when you said everything was ok. You’re angry at Johnny and you’re having trouble dealing with it now that that’s out in the open.”

“I didn’t lie! Everything _is_ ok, but I just think it’s time we lived alone! For fuck’s sake, (your name)! The last time we _actually_ lived alone was Canada! After that, we shared a space with Michael and Brad in North Yankton and Ron and Chef were at the trailer in Sandy Shores so often that it was like we all lived together. Not to mention, Ron’s trailer was right next door anyway. All I want is to live with my wife and my son, like a normal family.” I can hear the desperation in his voice.

“This is really bad timing, Trevor. Do you have any idea how you made him feel when you hurt him like that? I literally _just_ got done telling him that everything is ok here. Besides, where is he supposed to go? He has no one else and nowhere to go.” I try my best to make him feel some sort of guilt to buy time. 

I can’t say I completely disagree with what Trevor is saying. It would be nice to just be me, him, and Ryan. At the same time, I love having the friends I consider family readily available to talk to and hang out with. I never had anything like that growing up, but what’s most important to me is a sense of normalcy right now. 

Trevor and I both need that normalcy right now. We need it now more than ever with Ryan growing up, and maybe it is time for Trevor and I to put our foot down for our son’s sake. In the end, I know Trevor has a point but I can’t deal with this right now. I’m just starting to feel like my old self and I just got through helping Floyd and Ivy hold onto their relationship, all while I plan their wedding by myself.

“I get it. We don’t have to say anything to him right now; I’m not asking you to do that. I’m just saying that this is something to start thinking about. He has to already know this is how we feel.”

“Ok. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, but for right now I have too many things on my plate to worry about Johnny. He deserves more than us springing this on him anyway. He’s going through his own stuff too, you know. You really did a number on him, physically and mentally.” I say crossly.

“I know,” he rolls his eyes. “I do feel bad about it, but goddamn it, I just want some peace and quiet for a while. I don’t want people crashing here all the time to avoid dealing with their own shit. I have enough of that myself.”

“Well Floyd is only going to be here one more night. We very nearly avoided a crisis with him and Ivy, so I really don’t want to fight about that right now. Johnny will have to wait for another time, preferably after the wedding.”

“I don’t want to fight _period_.” He says genuinely. “I think all of this is part of our problem lately. For years now, you’ve been worrying about everyone else. I think it’d be best for everyone if we cut ourselves off for a little bit.”


	21. Empty-Nesters

“You said you heard what Amanda and I were discussing. Did you not hear the part about my dad? I can’t go much longer without speaking to him. Sooner or later, he’s going to come here and demand to speak to me.” 

“Calm down,” Trevor says as he sits with me on the bed. “I didn’t mean that we need to stop speaking to everyone all together. Definitely talk to your dad. In fact, I’d love if you talked to him so that I don’t have to lie to him everytime he calls me. All I meant was that I think we should have Johnny stay in Chumash and no one else is allowed to crash here for the meantime. We need to fix things here before we fix things on the outside.”

“Wow,” I say with subtle surprise. “That’s actually a really good point, Trev. I mean, I have to keep in touch with Ivy and Floyd regularly because of the wedding, but I guess I have been a little over concerned with keeping up appearances.”

“Aren’t you tired of doing that? I know I am.”

“Yeah, I am too. I have to admit, not having anyone here at the house for a little while sounds really nice. I could walk around in my underwear!” I say excitedly.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about,” Trevor smirks.

Playfully I nudge him and giggle. “Alright, I get it. I’ll keep it in mind, but we’re waiting until after the wedding. I’m sure he needs a vacation anyway.” I go to walk out of the room, but as I reach the door I turn around and look at him. “I don’t want to keep running every time things get hard. I want to stay right here and face things head on.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back,” I smirk deviously.

The door to the room at the end of the is closed. Inside, I know Floyd is on the phone with Ivy. He’s probably trying to find a way to seem like he has the upperhand in this situation when really he’s scared shitless of saying the wrong thing. Without even a knock, I open the door.

He turns and looks at me both with confusion and surprise. I take the phone out of his hands and hang up. “Get in the truck,” I demand. I don’t wait for an answer and walk back out of the room, going downstairs to wait for him in the truck.

Floyd doesn’t even try to put up a fight or ask for an explanation. I can hear him following, only steps behind me. We get into the red truck and I dig out the keys that are conveniently in my pocket. 

“I hope you don’t mind me askin’, but where are we goin’?” He asks timidly.

“I’m taking you home.”

“Gosh, I don’t know if I’m ready.” He says nervously.

I jerk the steering wheel to the right, pulling the truck over with a screeching halt. I look at Floyd with a thousand yard stare. “You’re ready. Look, Floyd, I’ve spent a lot of time telling myself that I don’t know how to deal with certain things. I’ve learned that sometimes you have to put yourself right in front of your problem and make it your bitch. Now, that’s not really your style. I know, but I’m going to be the factor of change in this situation. I’m going to be the thing that makes you stand in front of your problem and look at it in the eyes. When we get to your place, I want you to walk inside with a purpose and you tell her everything you’re thinking and feeling. Be honest. Be brutal. Ok?” Floyd looks at me in terror and nods. “Good.”

Quickly, I turn back onto the road and drive Floyd home with a lead foot. As I pull into the parking lot, I can see a light on in the upstairs apartment. Floyd remembers what I told him and gets out of the truck quickly, nearly slamming the door shut. He looks up at me.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” I smile.

He tugs on his jacket like a military man straightens his uniform, sticking his chest out. Without another word, Floyd takes off and ascends the staircase. I watch as he swiftly unlocks the door and slams it shut behind him.

I think about Floyd so often. Ever since Trevor and I got him out of the situation with Debra, I’ve wanted so much more for him in life. He deserves more than Debra. He deserves more than the mediocre opportunities that Trevor and I have given him. He deserves a good, normal life. I worry about him so much. 

I used to wonder and worry so much on if he could survive. Not only did I wonder if he could survive interpersonal relationships, but if he could survive this lifestyle. I asked Trevor once if he thought that Floyd is really better off working for us at the strip club than he would be if he was still with Debra. Trevor always assured me that he is.

Only now do I believe that. Although Ivy hurt him badly, it was the thing that got him to think for himself. I’ve never seen that look before that he gave me moments ago. Even if it was a front to gear himself up to give Ivy a piece of his mind, it’s a step in the direction of assuming that into his own personality. Floyd needs to learn strength, and I think he’s finally realizing that. 

I drive back home with Channel X blaring, and a sense of melancholy hanging over my shoulder. I don’t want to go back home yet. So, I pass my house and drive through downtown Los Santos. I remember wanting a car so badly so that I could drive off for however long, just until I could fathom the idea of being in the same house as my parents. I haven’t felt that feeling in years, until tonight. I wish I could just drive and drive and drive.

Thank god I left my phone at home, or else Trevor would be calling it over and over until I picked up. Either way, he’d be worried. I left without an explanation and honestly it feels pretty good to not have anyone know where I am. After about half an hour, I decide that’s enough torture for Trevor.

I drive back home, and this time I head into the driveway. Like an angry parent about to scold me for being out past curfew, Trevor comes storming out of the front door. His jaw and fists are clenched in frustration. 

“Where have you been?!” He roars.

“Shhh. You’ll wake Johnny and Ryan up.” I can tell that this reply only irritates him more.

“Don’t tell me to shh! I’ve been worried sick about you! I didn’t even know you were leaving the house! I tried calling you, but you left your phone here! It’s like you don’t even give a shit anymore!” He lumbers back into the house, knowing I’ll follow him.

“What are you going on about now?” I say quietly, trying not to alert Johnny or Ryan about the fight I’m trying to avoid right now.

Trevor grabs a can of beer from the fridge and aggressively pops the top on it. He takes a healthy swig and turns to face me. “I’m happy that you’re feeling better, but that doesn’t mean you have to be reckless.”

“I’m sorry, T. I just needed to clear my head. I took Floyd home and then went for a little drive. I promise I was in this area the last half hour.”

He looks at me with apprehension and places his free hand firmly on the countertop. “I keep wondering when things will go back to how they used to be, but I know it won’t. We’re too different now. We’ve been through too much and we’ve seen too many things. I just keep holding onto the idea that one day I’ll wake up and not look beside me in a panic to make sure you’re there.”

“You do that?” I ask.

He nods with his lips pursed. “Many times throughout the night and early morning, but you’re always fast asleep next to me. When it’s later in the morning and you’ve gotten out of bed for the day, I have a brief panic attack until I remember that you’re here and you’re safe.”

I think this revelation makes me feel happy and cared for until tears are streaming down my face and I bury my face in my hands in an attempt to muffle my sobs. Trevor puts the beer down and rushes over to me. I feel his comforting arms wrap around me and press me into his chest. 

“If I had known how much I’d hurt everyone around me, I just would’ve stayed in the house.”

“There was nothing you could’ve done.” He grabs both of my arms and forces me to look at him. “Do you understand me? There is no way anyone could have prevented what happened. What matters is that we’re here on the other side of it. Don’t feel guilty about everyone worry about you; it means you’re loved. That’s the price you have to pay when you love someone: you worry a whole fuck ton about them.” He pulls me back into an embrace.

“I know,” I clutch at him. “You saying that doesn’t make me feel any better. It just pisses me off more.”

“I know, I know.” He gently rubs my back. “We’ve been hit with a lot of hard truths in the past year. I know we’re both waiting on things to quiet down, but they never will. It’s time you accept that.”

“I already know that,” I look up at him confusedly.

“I know you _know_ that, but you haven’t accepted it. You’re so consumed by trying to change everything, but some things aren’t meant to change.” He cups my face with his hands and kisses my forehead. “I think change _is_ our problem. We need things to stop changing right now.”

I squint at him. “When did you get so wise?”

He smirks. “I always was. Thanks for finally noticing,” he says sarcastically. “On a serious note, I’ve had a lot of time to think about this.”

“Well, no more changes sounds good to me. I think I’d like to do the same thing everyday for a little bit, but the key word there is that I only want to do so for a little bit. You know how I am. I _have_ to change things up at a certain point.”

“That’s exactly why I think you need to learn how to deal with no changes. You’re used to escaping a situation by making a change, whether it’s going to stay somewhere else for a short time or by taking on a new project.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” I sigh.

“I know.”

* * *

I roll over and look at the clock. _Jesus! I slept in until noon?!_ I frantically get out of bed and make myself presentable to leave the bedroom. Like clockwork, my phone vibrates on the nightstand. _Every fucking day, someone needs me._ It’s Floyd.

“Hey, Floyd.”

“Hey, (your name). I just wanted to say thank you for letting me stay at y’all’s house for the night and I wanted to apologize for dragging you into this mess. On the brighter side, we talked everything out and she agreed to couple’s counselling. Our first session is next Tuesday.”

“That’s great! I’m very happy for you both. I knew you two could reach a resolution.” From somewhere else in the house, I hear a door slam. Uh-oh. Next comes a succession of loud bangs from somewhere else upstairs. “Floyd, I’m sorry to do this, but there’s a situation that needs my attention here.”

“No harm, no foul,” he says. “Thank you for listening as much as you have.”

“For you, of course. I’ll talk to you later.”

I put my phone down and practically run out of the bedroom door. Johnny’s bedroom door is shut, so I assume it’s him that slammed the door. Trevor is nowhere in sight, so I go downstairs. When I go into the kitchen, we make eye contact as he stands on the other side of the island and sips a cup of coffee.

“What’s going on? What was all that noise?” I ask with concern.

“Nothing. I took care of it.” He says blankly.

“Is Johnny ok?”

“He’s fine.” He says in a way that ever so slightly gives himself away

I turn and run back up the stairs. I stand in front of Johnny’s door to see if I can judge the situation from the noises coming from his room, but I can’t. My hand rests on the knob, and the other hand knocks on the wooden door. He doesn’t answer, but I know he heard me. Without his permission, I open the door. He’s pacing the room, looking for certain things and throwing them in his bag. 

“What’s going on?” I ask. 

“Nothing,” he answers coldly.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Johnny says, not taking a second to look at me as he moves all over the room.

“Hey,” I say to try to get his attention. He doesn’t pay me any mind, so this time I’m far more aggressive. I shout, “ **Hey**!” This startles him enough to stop and look at me nervously. “I asked you a fucking question! Answer it respectfully!”

“Trevor made it very clear that I need to leave the house. Ok?!” He goes back to packing his things.

I exhale loudly out of frustration and place my hand on my forehead. “Johnny, don’t leave. I don’t know what he said, but we were going to ask you if you wanted to stay at the beach house in Chumash for a little bit.”

He stops packing and looks at me. “What?”

“He didn’t tell you that?”

“No. I thought I was being kicked out.” 

“Did he not explain anything to you? We aren’t even asking you to leave permanently. We just thought you could use a vacation from here and we would like this house to ourselves. I told him to wait until after the wedding though.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, but then says, “No, I’ll go now. A vacation sounds great.”

My eyebrows raise. “Uh, ok. Well then I guess we’ll see you again soon. Um, I don’t really know what to say. I wasn’t even sure I’d agree to ask you to do this, and I really didn’t expect you to be so willing.”

“It’s probably best for everyone if we all had a break from each other,” he purses his lips.

Slowly, I walk up to him and he watches me attentively. I hug him. “Maybe, but I _am_ going to miss you. You’re a part of this family, Johnny.”

I can feel him take a deep breath in and let it out. “Ok. Let go of me before we both start crying.” 

“Make me,” I say sarcastically as I give him one last squeeze.

He finishes packing his bag and I follow him out to the driveway. Johnny hoists the bag onto the back of his Hexer and secures it with some bungee cords. Trevor eventually is nosy enough to come outside with us and he wraps an arm around my shoulders. We watch as Johnny throws his leg over the motorcycle and starts it up. 

“Johnny?!” I yell over the rumbling bike. He looks back at me. “Let me know when you get there, and keep in touch!” He nods his head. “We love you!” Johnny anxiously looks over at Trevor, who nods at Johnny. That’s the closest those two will ever get to letting each other know that they do love each other like family.


	22. Rekindle

I can hear the clock ticking on the desk behind me. It’s an annoying reminder that I’m wasting the time that I’m paying for. I run my hands along my legs, straightening out the dress that Trevor loves best on me. I sit back comfortably in the modern chair with my shoulders back. Marsden is leaning on one arm of her chair, legs crossed. She’s waiting, as always.

“When I was a junior in highschool,” I start, “I had an American History teacher that would often sneak a life lesson into the lecture for the day. One thing that he said particularly stuck with me. I remember him telling us that as much as we thought school was boring and redundant, that it was absolutely necessary; not because it was important for us to remember exact dates, but because it’s supposed to teach you to think for yourself.” 

“That must have resonated with you for you to have remembered it.” Marsden says generally, trying to prolong a conversation with no set path.

“It did, because I was a teenager at the time and teenagers are especially drawn to philosophic free-thinking. I also appreciated that he thought there was more to school than just standing in front of us and droning on about the Civil War or whatever. I appreciated that he was authentic with us in an environment where authenticity goes to die. Anyway, I remembered that the other day because I was thinking about being in this very room, sitting across from you just as we are, and talking just like this. I think what he said applies to this situation.”

She smiles. “I think you’re right. Therapy can teach you to think in a number of different ways, depending on what would work best for your circumstance. That’s a very clever connection you made.”

“Ok,” I exhale with annoyance, “I’m obviously going to have to be a lot more frank with you: coming to therapy has taught me that I need to think for myself because this isn’t working anymore. It helped as an initial intervention to get me back on the right track, but I’ve stopped making progress here. After that session with my husband, I feel like you’ve barely been listening. You’ve been waiting to talk. There’s nothing more that you can offer me that I haven’t already thought of on my own time.”

“I’ve been listening to you, but I guess it’s time for me to be frank with you too. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you this because I know it’s not something you want to deal with when you’re coping with your own dilemmas, but I _really_ think your husband should see a therapist of his own.” She says sheepishly, not wanting to make me uncomfortable.

“You think I don’t know that? You think _he_ doesn’t know that? What do you think a therapist could do for him anyway? Not a damn thing, that’s why we’ve never bothered. Trevor knows his faults and _thank god_ he has the sense to reel it in somewhat. That’s enough for us.”

“(Your name), he’s a textbook psychopath.” She blurts out.

I roll my eyes. “Do you really think you’re the first person to say that? If you really knew anything about him, you’d see that he’s actually more along the lines of a sociopath. He can’t plan a crime on his own to save his life and he’s capable of having relationships. He’s not even that though. You have no idea how it hurt him the last time someone slapped the label of instability on him, and I’m not about to let you sit back in your little chair with your fucking notepad and think you know what you’re talking about. You know only what I’ve chosen to tell you about him. He’s a far more complex person with an extremely eventful and lengthy history that you don’t even know one-hundredth of.” 

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to make you aware of my professional opinion and the reason behind it. You don’t have to take my advice, and it’s only my opinion. Other therapists or psychiatrists may have different opinions about him. Psychology is subjective.” She tries to bullshit the tension back down to a neutral state.

“I know that, and I’m trying to make you aware of the fact that you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. In fact, that’s been the case with the last few sessions. Just so you know, this will be my **last** session.” 

“That’s your decision and I respect it, although I hate to see you go. I think we could potentially make more progress if we talked more, but ultimately it is _your_ decision to make.”

“How do you expect that to happen? You couldn’t even help me figure out the root of my PTSD. It took me hours of reflection on the days I wasn’t in therapy, because the sessions would exhaust me from talking in circles for almost two hours, to realize that it wasn’t because of all the things that have happened to me. I’m a tough cookie and I would never break that easily, and you almost had me convinced otherwise. I have PTSD because of all the horrible things I’ve done in my life in order to survive!”

Just saying that out loud feels a million times more freeing than the many sessions and hours I’ve spent in therapy. Although, I should give her some credit for the fact that I came to this realization because of her incompetency during our last sessions together. I can feel the look of having a grand revelation plastered across my face, and she looks at me anxiously like she’s been caught red-handed in a lie.

“I’m happy for you that you came to that conclusion. It does make sense and connect a few dots. You seem to have a new perspective on things, so perhaps our time together _has_ come to an end. I wish you well.” She squirms in her seat, having lost the battle.

I smile. “Thank you, Dr.Marsden, for everything you _have_ helped me with.” I grab my bag and head out of her office. Because it’s customary, I sign myself out on the sheet on the reception desk. Then, without another thought, I give the receptionist the middle finger. She looks absolutely appalled. “That’s for always being a stuck-up, condescending bitch.” I almost laugh with pure joy over never having to walk in this building again.

Walking out to the truck, I know the wide grin on my face makes me look absolutely insane. I need to keep it together, just until I get home. All I can think about is Trevor. I can’t get home to him quick enough. _Oh my god_ , I think, _it’s finally happening!_

* * *

With my temporary one-track mind, I almost forget to turn the truck off and take the key out of the ignition before excitedly running into the house. I drop my bag in the foyer and run to the bottom of the staircase. “Trevor?!” I yell for him. “Trevor!”

He pops his head out of the doorway to the kitchen. “Shh! Ryan’s taking a nap. What’s wrong?” 

I stride toward him and he almost looks a little scared. I grab the part of his shirt that hangs around his waist and push him backwards into the kitchen while kissing him passionately until he’s backed up against the counter. His hands rest on my shoulders and as we part for air, he looks down at me with confusion.

“Where is this going?” He asks hesitantly.

My hands slide from his chest down to the zipper of his jeans. “I want you to fuck me, Trevor,” I say aggressively.

His eyes widen and he appears to blush. Even though he knows we’re the only ones home, besides our napping son, he looks around like someone might overhear my straightforwardness. Trevor’s eyes find mine again. “Are you serious?”

“Did I stutter?” I grab the crotch of his pants and he inhales in slight pain, but I feel with my hand that excitement overrides that. 

He mumbles curses under his breath, trying to figure out what to do. In all fairness, it’s been about seven months since we’ve done this. That’s enough time to make the next time feel brand new. I walk my fingers up to the button on his pants as I kiss him again. Trevor’s hands grasp my arms. “Not here.” He grabs me by the wrist and pulls me down the hall and up the stairs, which almost causes me to trip several times. Our endeavor ends in the bedroom.

He doesn’t mean to, but he lets go of my wrist so quickly that I stumble into our bedroom. He shuts the door and looks at me like a wild animal about to go in for the kill. “I’m going to ask you one more time to make sure you want this.”

“I think I made myself clear,” I say with an attitude and I can tell he’s enjoying it. 

“You specifically said _fuck_. I’m just making sure that’s-”

“ _Jesus christ, Trevor!_ I said **fuck** , I meant **fuck**!”

“Ok,” he says in a singsong kind of way that makes it sound like I’ll regret my decision.

He grabs me around the waist and pulls me against him as he initiates a passionate make-out. His fingers pull down the zipper behind my back and I help him with his shirt. My dress hitting the floor is the final straw. He can’t take it anymore. 

Trevor undoes his pants as he pushes me onto the bed, hard enough to make me bounce back up slightly a few times. I look up at him, standing over me, like I’m full of innocence for him to sully. He grabs my underwear at the sides and pulls towards himself as hard as he can. The sound of ripping fabric fills the otherwise quiet room, and he throws my now useless panties to the floor. He hesitates a moment.

“What are you waiting for, Trev?” I ask, dying from anticipation.

“It’s been a _long_ time,” he says quietly. “I’m just taking in how beautiful you are. I’ve _missed_ this.” Trevor pulls me by my legs to the edge of the bed, and he kneels down in front of me.

I smile. “That’s s-” I gasp, unable to finish my sentence as I feel his warm, wet tongue go to town on my sensitive center. I let him continue for another minute or so before saying, “I’m going to go insane if I don’t have you soon.”

“You don’t have to tell _me_ twice,” he says playfully. 

Trevor guides me under the covers and we wrestle with our last articles of clothing. He rolls over on top of me and supports himself by planting one hand next to my head. He kisses me sweetly. This is my final warning from him, and I know it. 

Slowly, he slides inside of me, inch by inch. His eyes nearly roll in the back of his head from the months of withdrawal and then sudden allowance of this kind of pleasure. He leans forward, almost collapsing in ecstacy. “You know I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m sorry if I’m about to.”

Before I can ask him what he means, he grips the headboard with his other hand to steady himself and thrusts himself violently the rest of the way in. My mouth hangs open in pain and pleasure, which multiplies more of the latter. He continues this aggressive pattern of behavior and animalistic grunting, and I expect to hear my pelvis (or the bed) break at any second.

Only when my head is about to hit the headboard do I get a break, but even that isn’t gentle. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me toward him, leaving red marks with his fingers. He wastes no time going back to his rhythmic, but harsh movements. But he can only continue for so long.

This is a new record. He scoops me up in his arms, making me straddle him. We both entwine as we wrap our arms around each other, his heavy breathing now in my ear. In a way I can only describe as a miracle, we finish together. Before he lowers me back onto the bed and falls tiredly beside me, Trevor kisses me in a way he hasn’t in months.

“Trev,” I say, trying to catch my breath, “you just came inside me.”

“I’m sorry, cupcake,” he also tries to catch his breath. “It just kind of happened.”

“It’s ok. Just remember our agreement next time,” I pant. A few somewhat silent seconds pass. “Who am I kidding? It was more than ok.”

Trevor looks over at me and smiles deviously. He holds out his arm as an invitation for me to cuddle up to him. I scoot in closer and rest my head on his bare chest. His fingers gently play with my hair. Silently, we lay there revelling in our post-coital happiness. 

What’s the point of saying anything when we don’t have to? Somehow, sex has realigned a forgotten form of communication between Trevor and I. It’s almost telepathic. However, some things need to be vocalized for clarification to all parties.

He squeezes me and kisses the top of my head. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I _am_ curious as to the mysterious forces at work I should be thanking for this situation.”

I giggle. “Thank my shitty therapist. Also, you should know that I’m not going back.”

He picks his head up slightly and his brow furrows. “I’m going to assume that’s a good thing considering what just happened.”

“It is, Trev. It’s a _really_ good thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the lack of updates the last two months. Some family stuff and other unforeseen events came up and it's been really difficult to find time to write. Know that I'd really like to get back to fairly regular posting, but please bear with me! Thank you for those of you that have continued to read and support this story; I love you all!!!


	23. Wedding Reprise

“And there you go,” I say happily as I pat the newly tied bow-tie around Floyd’s neck. “You look amazing Floyd. You look _really_ happy.”

“Really? ‘Cuz I’m scared outta my mind right now.”

“Yes, really. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this much. Don’t you think he looks great, Trev?” I turn and see my husband quickly look up at me. “Ugh, Trevor! You’re bow-tie is all crooked!” I hurry over to him to fix it.

“Yeah, you look great, floyd. Also, you should just be happy I got the damn thing tied. I haven’t worn one in years.” 

“There,” I tug on the sides of the bow. Then, I run my hand down the front of Trevor’s white button-up shirt to flatten it. “I ironed this shirt before yesterday and it was hanging up in our closet until about an hour ago. How is it wrinkled?” 

“What are you so worried about?” He looks down. “ _That_ little wrinkle is what you’re worried about?” He rolls his eyes. 

“You’re the best-man, Trevor, and that’s not the only wrinkle. Anyway, it’s too late to deal with it now. I have to go to Ivy. I’ll see you boys in a few minutes.” I give Trevor a peck on the cheek and then go to leave the room.

At the end of the hall, I make a right and then enter the room at the very end of that hall. Ivy stands in front of a floor-length mirror, staring at herself. Terror is all over her face. She hears me enter and whips around quickly to look at me. She looks as though she might have a mental breakdown.

“I can’t believe this day is finally here. I know it sounds cliché, but I’ve imagined this day since I was a little girl and you have executed it in a way that far surpasses my wildest dreams. It’s perfect.” As I smile humbly at her, she turns back to the mirror and stares at herself again. “I don’t deserve such a beautiful wedding and I don’t deserve Floyd.” She fights back tears.

I grab her shoulders and look at her in the reflection of the mirror, and she looks at me. “Hey, don’t say that. I know you and Floyd just got past a big bump in the road, but I think that means your relationship is that much stronger. You made a mistake, but you’re a good person, Ivy. You and Floyd deserve each other and you both deserve today. Dry your eyes and keep your chin up. You have to go get married now.”

We smile at each other. I hand her a tissue and she pats at the inner corners of her eyes, not wanting to ruin her makeup. Together we walk out of the room and down the hall to the big chapel doors. On the other side of them, I can hear the music starting. I look at Ivy one last time, and she nods. I pull the doors open and everyone is standing, waiting for the bride to walk down the aisle. Ivy and I link arms, and we walk down the aisle together. When we reach the end of the path, I give Ivy a hug and then stand behind her. 

The priest starts the ceremony, but I am distracted by the smile that Trevor is giving me from behind Floyd. I shoot him a look that says “ _behave yourself_ ”. I look out at the small gathering of friends and family that are attending. I spot Michael, who gives me a wink, and Amanda sitting next to him. I look around for Wade, but he’s nowhere to be found. That is, until he comes barging in the room. 

Almost everyone looks over at the commotion he causes. Trevor and I look at each other and he mouths to me, “I’ve got it”. Quietly, he makes his way over to Wade, pulls him aside towards the very back of the room, and whispers something in his ear. Wade nods his head and they both walk back to their spots behind Floyd. 

A few minutes later, Ivy and Floyd exchange their I-do’s and he’s instructed that he may now kiss the bride. Modestly, Floyd lifts Ivy’s veil and gives her a quick, but loving kiss. We all clap for them and Trevor gives me a look from across the way in the midst of this special moment. I know he’s remembering the day we got married. 

Floyd and Ivy join hands and exit the chapel. Trevor and I follow them, and then Wade follows us. Trevor holds out his elbow for me. The five of us head outside the building and get into the limo that will take us to the reception. Floyd and Ivy engage in a private conversation, but the looks on either of their faces tell me that it’s one full of happiness and excitement. I cuddle up next to Trevor and he wraps his arm around me.

“What do you think, Wade? You’ve been pretty quiet. Are you happy for Floyd?” Trevor asks.

“Oh yeah! You told me to be quiet, so I’m just sittin’ here tryin’ to mind my business. Just like you told me.”

I look at Trevor and he just smiles.

* * *

Trevor makes a joke and he and I start laughing so much that my sides hurt. Most everyone else at our table only finds it mildly amusing. Across the room, Michael’s face lights up in the dark as he looks at his phone. He takes a call, but it isn’t a very long one. We make eye contact and he doesn’t look happy. My stomach drops as he gets out of his seat and heads our way. 

I take a sip of my drink to regain some composure. Michael leans in in between Trevor and I and whispers, “Meet me outside”. Before we get up, Trevor and I look at one another and silently try to guess what this might be about. We give it a minute or so, and then follow Michael outside. 

The sidewalk right outside is only illuminated by two tall light posts, otherwise the venue is completely veiled by the night. Moths hover above us, drawn to the light. Michael paces nervously, covering his mouth with his hands. 

“What’s up, Mikey?” Trevor initiates. 

“Look, you guys aren’t going to like this. I know you guys were trying to go straight now that you have a kid, but you know I wouldn’t ask you guys this if there was another way.” He says uneasily.

“Shit, Michael. What is it? You know Trevor and I are here for you.” I assure him.

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand the amount of guilt I have over this, but I’m going to need you guys to come in with me on a job.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says Trevor. “What do you mean? You’ve been back in the game and you didn’t tell us?!”

Michael runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s not exactly like that. You guys know I wanted out, but the I.A.A. agent that was covering my tracks all these years blackmailed me back into doing a few jobs to help cover his tracks. I need a few extra people on the next few jobs and you two are among the best. There’s no one out there with either of your skill levels.”

“What’s the job?” I ask blankly.

“You mean you’re in?” Asks Michael.

“Of fucking course we’re in!” Trevor interjects, answering for both of us.

Michael smiles, “I knew I could count on you two. Ok, so what you’ll definitely be needed for is a hit on City Hall. I’m not supposed to give you guys specifics, but I need two people that are good with guns and that can work as a team. We’ll discuss the details of the job later when we can talk more privately.”

Amanda walks outside with us. “There you are, Michael. They’re playing our song. I want to dance.”

“I’ll be right there.” He says and then stays quiet until she goes back inside. “We’ll talk again soon. Again, thank you guys.”

Trevor and I remain silent until Michael goes back inside. As soon as we’re alone, I sigh in frustration. Trevor buries his hands in his pockets. Neither one of us knows where to begin, but we’re feeling the same exact way. I know it.

“Just when I thought we were getting a break,” I say with annoyance.

“Tell me about it,” he says rhetorically. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to do a heist. It’s just that…” he trails off. “We _do_ have a kid to think about. Who knows what this is going to snowball into.”

“My thoughts exactly.” I pause a few seconds to think about it. “Look, I meant what I said to him about us being here for him, but he has a lot of guts to ask us to do this.”

“I agree. It was a selfish thing to do, but that’s how he’s always been. It’s always been about him and what it takes to save his own hide. You know that. Maybe on the other hand this is a blessing in disguise for us.”

I squint at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Oh come on. Don’t act like you don’t still fantasize about doing heists.” 

“You know what? I’m not having this discussion right now. I’m not in the mood to fight. We should savor this night while we can. It’s supposed to be a happy day. Let’s go back inside and dance and forget this happened tonight.” 

“Ok, fair enough. On the bright side, you look really fucking hot in that dress.” He smirks.

I can’t help but smirk too. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself. I love it when I can get you in a suit.”

He laughs and holds the door open for me. “Yeah well enjoy it while it lasts.”

* * *

“Aw, poor thing,” I say to Trevor as I see Franklin asleep on our couch. “He’s probably exhausted. Should I wake him up or just let him sleep?”

“You go upstairs and check on Ryan. I’ll take care of Franklin.”

As I walk back into the hall, I can hear Trevor wake Franklin up. He’s probably going to fill Franklin in on our conversation with Michael. I wouldn’t be surprised if Michael approaches Franklin to join in on the heist. I peek into Ryan’s room and he’s sound asleep. Quietly, I sneak into the room and give him a kiss before closing the door and heading to my own bedroom.

A few minutes later Trevor comes into the room and undoes his bow-tie, letting it hang around his neck. “Franklin just left. I didn’t tell him about our conversation with Michael. I figured that he probably shouldn’t know unless Michael has him come in.”

“You know, I’ve been trying not to think about it all night. Did he really have to bring it up tonight? I worked so hard to put that wedding together and I really wanted to enjoy it.” I say angrily.

“I know, I know. I know exactly how you feel.” He sighs.

“No, you really don’t. You say you do, but you don’t know how I feel. You have no idea how any of this feels. I bent over backwards to plan that wedding!” I fidget to get my earrings out and I throw them on the dresser.

“Then why don’t you talk to me and fill me in on how it feels?” Trevor says calmly.

“What makes you think that would do it any justice? I can’t possibly find a way to accurately describe what it feels like to be me this year.” Behind me, I can hear him scoff. “Oh, do you have something to say?” I meet him with defensive aggression.

“I do,” he says matter-of-factly. “I love you and I respect the fact that you _have_ had a tough life, but have you ever stopped to think maybe the people around you have had a rough go of it too?” 

“Yes, it has occured to me!”

“Well, then act like it. Life is a shitfest, but we all have to deal with it.” He stands up from the bed, symbolizing that he’s standing up to me.

“I know that.” I pull my hair away from my neck and turn my back to him, “Can you unzip my dress?”

He slowly walks up behind me and just stares at me before he slowly unzips my dress. “I think you’ve been overdramatic about all of this, _or_ you’re just milking it for all it’s worth.”

I turn around and shove him as hard as I can, yelling at him, “You’re such an asshole!”

His jaw clenches and an intimidating look of anger crosses his face. He lunges forward and grabs my wrists tightly as I struggle to get away from him. He grits his teeth. “Come on! Keep telling me what an asshole I am! I fucking love that shit!”

I march into the bathroom to retrieve a makeup wipe and then go back out to stand in front of Trevor. Without another word, I lift up my dress and remove my stockings that conceal all the reminders of what happened to me. I move on to my forearms and my chest and begin scrubbing at them with the makeup wipe. Trevor’s expression softens somewhat as he notices the scars appear. When I’m finished, I angrily throw the makeup wipe at him that has now gone from a clean white to the color of my foundation. “You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

Slowly, he walks up to me so that his face is but an inch from mine and he whispers, “You weren’t scared of anything. You were just angry at me this entire time. All of this has been to punish me. I should’ve known; that’s your favorite pastime.” 

A burning sensation forms in my stomach from the pure ire that originates there. With everything in me, I want to punch his lights out. For one second, I want him to be quiet so that he can’t instigate. But then he does the unspeakable: while I’m furious at him, he embraces me and kisses me.

I try to push him off of me, but he only strengthens his grasp. He has entered dangerous territory. Trevor forces me up against the wall, kissing me passionately. I fumble with his belt and untuck and unbutton his shirt, revealing the large and deep scar across his abdomen that he got when we were first dating. Lightly, I run my fingers across it and he watches me do so. Then, he pulls me over to the bed and takes my arm in his hand. He kisses one of the scars and looks at me. “You’re still beautiful to me, no matter what.”

“I know,” I smile.

“But I’m still going to take out my resentment of the last few months on you tonight. I’m going to show you how you’ve made me feel.”

I feel a shiver roll down my spine as he looks at me blankly and utters those words.

* * *

I wake up to the bedroom door opening. Trevor walks in with two cups in his hands. He sits on the edge of the bed on my side and holds out one of the cups to me; it’s coffee. I sit up and clutch the blankets to my chest, and take the cup. 

“How are you up before me?” I ask.

“Well, you had a rougher night than I did.” He smirks and takes a sip of his coffee. “You’ll be happy to know that little man is still out cold.”

I take a sigh of relief as I sip more coffee. “That does make me happy. I need a moment to adjust after last night. I need to at least get dressed. Give me a second and we can go sit outside.”

“Or you could just stay like that and I could join you for round two,” Trevor suggests.

I scoff. “Yeah, not gonna happen.” Quickly I wrap myself in one of the blankets on the bed and gather up some clothes to put on. When I emerge from the bathroom, dressed this time, Trevor looks at me with concern.

“Look at this,” he says to me. As I approach the bed, he moves the sheets back from where I was laying and reveals splotches of blood.

“I’m not surprised. My whole body kinda aches.” I say as I pick up my cup of coffee and we walk downstairs.

“Are you ok?” He asks me. “You’re walking a little funny.”

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I shoot him a look. “Yeah, I’m fine, but you weren’t exactly gentle.” 

“Fair enough.” We both walk out into our backyard and take a seat.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You’re just so fucking gorgeous. Also, I’m _really_ happy.” 

“You’re just saying that because you’re getting laid again.”

“While that may be true, that’s not the whole truth. This is what I always envisioned for us: getting married, having a nice house, sitting in _our_ backyard on a nice morning.” 

“I didn’t realize you thought about that so much.” I smile.

“Yeah,” he giggles, “probably more than you can imagine.” Trevor’s phone rings and interrupts our silent moment together. He looks discouraged as he answers the phone and puts it on speaker. “Hey, Mike. (Your name) is here too.”

“Ah, hey guys. Just letting you know that we’re on for tomorrow. Franklin is driving. Lester and I will give you the details before we head out.”

“Ok, see you then.”

“Alrighty,” Michael says, sounding guilty. I know he does actually feel guilty for asking us to do this for him since we have a young son. He should feel that way. 

Trevor hangs up and shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Well, for your sake, I sure hope your limp is gone by tomorrow.”

“If not and we get killed, at least I can rightfully blame it on you.” I say sarcastically with a smile.


	24. A Taste of Freedom

Franklin, Trevor, and I all exchange apprehensive glances until Lester and Michael walk in. The three of us have no idea what’s to come, but we know what our parts are going to be. Franklin was given a suit to wear, and will be driving Michael’s sedan to the job. He will pose as a chauffeur. Lester handed Trevor and I navy colored boiler suits. We’re posing as janitors, or maybe at least groundskeepers. 

Michael’s disguise is also a nicely tailored suit with a small American flag pin on his lapel. _What the fuck?!_ I get it. Trevor and I are doing his dirty work. I cross my arms and I can tell Michael reads my body language perfectly.

“Alright, so I’m sure you guys have somewhat guessed what each of us will be doing. Franklin, you’re our getaway driver. Trevor and (your name), you two will need to work together to get us in the building and then into the mayor’s office. I will be posing as your average, everyday politician.” He explains. “Any questions?”

“Um, yeah, a lot of them,” I speak up. “What is the goal?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you, but I know you guys will keep it on the down-low. The I.A.A. agent that has been keeping me in the Witness Protection Program needs certain documents that the mayor says he doesn’t have. Apparently it’s very sensitive information that could change a lot in Los Santos. That’s all I know.” Michael elaborates.

“Why are we doing this? I mean, what are we getting out of it. You could've just told the I.A.A. guy to go fuck himself.” Trevor adds.

“No, I really couldn’t, T. He blackmailed me into doing this by saying he’d take me out of Witness Protection.”

“Why do you even need to be in it? I already know you’re alive.” Trevor says confusedly.

“Yeah, but this rich asshole that I owe a lot of money to can’t touch me while I’m in it. The F.I.B is just waiting for another piece of evidence on him and he doesn’t want that attention. If I’m in protection, I’m in the _system_. If I’m not, I’m off the grid and therefore the government couldn’t give a fuck what happens to me.”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough. I don’t want to be dragged into that mess too much. Let’s just get this over with. You better give us a nice cut at the end of this though, Michael.” I interject

“I’ve already calculated what everyone’s cut will be. You will all receive a million dollars, each.” Lester informs us.

My eyes widen. “Wow. These documents must be important and this I.A.A. guy must be pretty important too.”

“You could say that.” Michael nervously purses his lips. “Let’s get rolling.”

* * *

Michael hands Trevor and I each a handgun. “Just in case.” Then, he hands us our earpieces. Trevor and I conceal the guns inside our boiler suits and zip them up after getting out of the car. We insert our earpieces and walk around to the back of the building. “Can you guys hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Trevor answers.

“Ok, there should be a window slightly open on the third floor. Apparently they’ve been having air conditioning issues and leave it open to air the building out. I guess they thought since it’s on the third floor that no one would break in.” Lester laughs. 

“I see it, but how the hell are we supposed to get up there?” I inquire.

“That,” Trevor says as he points to a ladder tucked in a little maintenance equipment area near the dumpsters. “I’ll go up first so I can help you up.”

I watch as he places and ascends the ladder. When he climbs onto the cement ledge, he turns around and gives me a nod. As I raise my arms to begin the climb, I notice a pain in my side and can’t breathe in as deeply. I ignore it and begin to climb up, but the pain intensifies halfway up. Trevor notices something is wrong.

“(Your name)?” Michael comes in over the earpiece. “You good? I can hear how shaky your breaths are.”

I don’t answer and then both Michael and Lester come in over the earpiece. Trevor tells them that I’m fine as he climbs down the ladder to where I am and reaches out for me. I don’t want the help, but I know I can’t do it. I take his hand and he pulls up to give me the extra strength I need.

As soon as I’m up there, I take slightly deeper breaths, but it’s not enough to fully catch my breath. My side feels as though it’s splitting. Michael and Lester ask if I’m ok, but Trevor has to answer again for me. They don’t accept this. I climb into the window to avoid the danger of being on the ledge and grab my side that is causing me excruciating pain. 

“I’m ok. Probably just nerves. It’s been a while since we’ve done a job. Where are we going next?” I already start heading down the hallway. 

“Ok,” Lester says, not fully believing me. “There are trackers on your earpieces, so just give me a minute to pull up the map of the building. Alright, so you need to go downstairs and let Michael in. There may or may not be a security guard still there; that’s what the disguises are for. After that, Michael will head up to the fourth floor and you two will need to enter the vents in the office.”

“Alright, we’re on our way.” I tell them.

As Trevor and I exit the stairwell on the first floor and walk down a long hallway, a security guard enters on the other end of the hall. He gives us a nod as he approaches. “I’ve been radioing for the past twenty minutes for someone to fix the leak upstairs in the men’s bathroom.”

“They’re buying new radios for us, but they haven’t come in yet. No radios for the time being,” I quickly reply.

“Huh, that’s odd. I thought they got new radios last year. Anyway, I need you guys to go fix it before the sink floods the whole damn bathroom.” The guard says.

“I can do it. You go ahead and make the rounds.” Volunteers Trevor as he gives me a wink. 

Alone, I continue my walk down the hall and turn the corner. The large glass front doors are now visible and I can see Michael standing outside. He touches his earpiece, “I only caught half of that and I don’t see Trevor. What happened?”

“There was a security guard. Trevor is fixing a leak for him upstairs. I don’t know where they went,” I explain to Lester and Michael through the earpiece as I unlock the door.

“I can track him with the earpiece, but he seems to have turned it off. That’s probably for the best, but the two of you need to be careful.”

Michael and I walk back to the stairwell and climb the stairs until we make it to the fourth floor. Quietly, we follow Lester’s directions through the hallways. We hear talking in the men’s bathroom when we pass it and look at each other, realizing Trevor and the security guard are on the floor we are on. Michael and I continue to the end office and wait for Lester to give us further instructions.

“Alright, I’m going to read out a set of numbers to you and I need you to punch them in the keypad on the door as soon as I say them. Do not hesitate. You have three chances to get it right or else an alarm will be triggered.”

Michael positions himself in front of the door and waits for Lester to say a number. I think I can almost see him beginning to sweat as he punches in the number. A few seconds pass without Lester uttering a number, and the keypad makes a beeping noise and the backlit numbers blink red before returning to a steady green. My chest tightens. Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone coming down the hall. I turn quickly, wince in pain, and grab my side as Trevor and I make eye contact from across the hall.

“I’m sorry, Michael. That’s my fault. My shitty internet connection timed out. Let’s try it again.” Lester says.

“What’d I miss?” Trevor asks.

“Nothing much,” I grimace. “We’re just trying to get the keys timed correctly.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asks me.

“Not really, but let’s worry about finishing the job. I hear the keypad beep again, signaling another failure. I touch Michael’s arm, telling him to move aside. “Ok, read the numbers out again, Lester.” He does so and the keypad blinks green at the end of the sequence. I turn the door handle and push it open. “Stay focused, Mikey.”

“I’m trying to,” he says as he enters the office and begins rifling through the desk and filing cabinets. 

“Ok, now there’s a briefcase filled with all sorts of top secret information hidden in a room behind the bookcase. It’s nearly impossible to get into, but the mayor has it air conditioned to keep the documents intact. (Your name), since you’re the smallest, you’ll have to enter the air ducts in the office and crawl to the room behind the office.”

“Trevor, give me a boost.” I instruct him as I pull the grating off the vent.

He whispers to me. “I don’t know if you should do this if you’re in pain.”

“We don’t have a lot of options, T.” Lester reminds him.

“I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, Trevor interlocks his fingers and allows me to place my foot in his hands. He pushes me upwards and into the vent. I make a pained noise and it slightly echoes through the vents. All the boys shush me. I try my best to lean to one side and slide along the metal vents, but it still hurts and hinders my breathing. 

When I reach the end of the vent, I push the grating out and slide down into the vault. Perfectly, the briefcase is on a table in the center of the vault. I grab it, tell everyone over the earpiece that I have it, and throw it into the vent. 

As I reach to climb up into the vent again, I’m gripped by a coughing fit. I struggle to regain my breath as the sensation of being stabbed makes its way across my chest. The boys ask me if I’m ok, but I ignore them and feel the portion of my abdomen that hurts with my fingers. It feels rigid. _Shit_. 

“I’m fine.” I finally answer.

Using a nearby bookcase, I jump up into the vent and grit my teeth hard to avoid making anymore noises. On the other side of the vent, I throw the briefcase into the office and slide out after it. I land on my feet, but sink to the floor in so much pain that I think I’m going to pass out. Trevor quickly rushes to my side to help me up.

“Ok, our job here is done. I’m taking her to the car.” He tells Lester and Michael.

“No, I still haven’t found the files I’m looking for.” Michael says.

“You don’t need us to get out of here.” Trevor snaps at him.

“Yes I do. You have to lock the front door after me and then you two have to exit through the window again.”

Trevor rolls his eyes. “Hurry the fuck up then! She needs to rest.”

“I’m doing the best I can, T.” Michael says clearly annoyed.

“Ay, I know I’m not supposed to leave the car, but do you want me to come get ‘er?” Franklin chimes in through the earpiece. Usually the getaway driver stays quiet to prevent distractions, but I don’t blame Franklin if he doesn’t want to listen to Trevor and Franklin bicker.

“Yeah, could you, Frank?” Trevor answers.

“I’ll meet you around back.” Says Franklin.

“I really wish you all would stick to the plan, but there’s nothing I can do to stop you. Just be careful.” Lester adds.

Trevor ignores him and walks me down to the third floor and over to the window we entered through. Franklin waves up at us from the bottom of the ladder and Trevor returns the gesture. He helps me out of the window and onto the ladder. Slowly, I climb down towards Franklin, still experiencing sharp pains in my side. 

When I reach the bottom half of the ladder, one of the rungs I’m stepping on gives out and I fall the rest of the way onto the concrete. The wind is knocked out of me and my upper half feels obliterated. As I struggle to gasp for air, Franklin tries to help me up before Trevor has a full blown freakout. 

Franklin pulls me up to my feet and I begin to cough again dryly. I give Trevor a thumbs up so that he worries a little less, I turn off my earpiece, and immediately head towards the car. Franklin follows me closely and even runs in front of me to open the car door for me. Then, he runs around to the other side of the car and gets back in the driver’s seat. He turns in his seat to check on me and silences mutes his earpiece..

“You good?” He asks. I look at him and just shake my head. “You look kinda pale.”

“What do you mean? Do I look white or blue?” I ask.

“Now that you mention it, kinda bluish.” We just stare at each other. Franklin doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

About ten minutes later, Michael and Trevor join us in the car and Franklin drives us back to the base. Franklin and Michael leisurely walk towards the base, but I grab Trevor’s arm and pull him aside.

“We need to leave. Now.” I whisper.

“Ok, ok,” he says understandingly. “Hey, guys!” He yells to Michael and Franklin. “We’re gonna head out. Tell Lester we’ll deal with the disguises at home.”

“You guys alright?” Michael asks.

“Yeah, we’re just tired and we have to pick up Ryan and give Amanda a break.” I lie.

“Ok. Goodnight, guys. Oh, and thanks again.” Michael purses his lips.

We split up and Trevor and I load into the truck. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I think you might’ve gotten a little carried away the other night and broke my rib.” I tell him.

“What?! Why didn’t you say anything?!” He starts the truck and starts driving us home.

“You don’t remember what Chef said the last time I broke my rib? There’s really nothing you can do for it. It hurts a lot worse this time. Jesus, my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.”

“I’m getting us home as quick as possible. You go straight inside and rest. I’ll call Chef and then Amanda.” He says firmly. He takes a quick glance at me and shakes his head. “You’ve got to stop getting hurt. It makes me a nervous wreck.”

* * *

“Alright, thanks.” Trevor hangs up the phone and tosses it on the table. He approaches me, sitting comfortably and calmly on the couch. “He said to rest and ice it if you need to.”

I smile sarcastically. “Just like I said before you even called him. Anyway, I texted Amanda while you were on the phone with him. She said she’ll bring him home in the morning.”

“Perfect,” he sinks into the couch. “I’m really sorry, you know,” he sighs.

“I’m not,” I smirk. As I scoot closer to him, I whisper in his ear, “Maybe once it’s healed, we can do it all over again.” I kiss his cheek and I swear I can see him blush.

“We’ll have to find another way. Chef said every break makes it a little more brittle and susceptible to another break. This time you punctured a lung. I don’t want to know how it could possibly get worse if this were to happen again.”

I roll my eyes. “Chef said that it was probably a small hole based on our description. It’ll heal on its own. If you still feel anxious, then you can drive us to Sandy Shores or have him come here to check me out. You’ve really become such a worry wart.”

“I guess I finally know what it’s felt like for you all these years.” He sighs.

“Yeah,” I scoff. “Learn to relax again and live a little.”

“Tonight was really fun.”

“Yeah, it was. But that’s it, Trevor.”

“I know, I know. We have a son to think about now.”

"Exactly," I pause, "but it _was_ fun."


	25. Square One

My phone vibrates across the table from me as I watch Ryan eat his dinner. It’s not a number I recognize, so I brush it off and wait for it to go to voicemail. However, the phone begins to vibrate again. I wait for Ryan to eat the last bit of mashed potato, take his dirty dishes to the sink, and answer the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Mrs.Philips?”

I pause for a moment and look at Trevor, quietly reading something in the living room. “Who is this?” I ask. Trevor curiously looks over at me.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Doctor Riley at Northern Chumash Medical Center. I’m calling to inform you that we have a, uh, Mr.Klebitz here.” 

“ ** _What?!_** ”

“There’s no need to worry. He’s stable now. Your information was all he would give us. He’s being discharged, but someone needs to pick him up.”

“Oh, I’ll be there alright,” I say frustratedly. “Tell him to stay put and that I’m on my way.” Without waiting for the doctor’s reply, I hang up the phone. “Trevor, watch Ryan.” I instruct. I grab my jacket and shove my phone into the pocket angrily. 

“Wait a second!” He calls after me. “Where are you running off to now?”

I stop to look at him, “To get Johnny. He’s in the hospital. I swear to fucking god, it’s like I have three kids sometimes. I’m taking the truck. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Just be careful.”

“I will,” I say blankly as I walk out the door. 

Trevor grabs my arm and pulls me against him, forcing me to stop and look at him. “I love you,” he kisses me. He looks into my eyes and holds me tightly enough to tell me that he isn’t ok with this, but I have to do it.

“I love you too.”

* * *

I rush the reception desk and I know I look like pure hell. My hair is all over the place from driving too fast in the open truck and I’m extremely tired, being the middle of the night and all.

“Klebitz,” I tell her.

She types away on the computer in front of her and then asks me for my id. Not wanting anymore trouble, I pull out my driver’s license and slide it across the counter to her. She verifies my name and tells me the room number. 

I storm down the hall and doctors and nurses give me apprehensive looks. I don’t even care at this point. I’m seeing red and that’s all I can focus on. When I reach the door, I take a deep breath in before pushing it open and letting it swing shut behind me.

Johnny is sitting on the edge of a hospital bed. There are bloody gashes above his brow and patches of gauze covering sections of his arms. His nose looks a little straighter than the last time I saw him. He looks at me from across the way and he already knows what’s in store for him. 

“Look,” he starts, “it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Bull. Shit.” I say sternly. “It’s bad enough that I had to come all the way here. Don’t say a word to me until we get to the beach house. Just get your ass in the truck and be quiet.”

He nods understandingly and walks with me outside to the truck. Crickets amplify the silence between us, but it doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it bothers him. I can tell. I drive us to the Chumash beach house that’s about ten minutes from the hospital. We get out of the truck and quietly go inside before discussing the recent events that led us to this point.

Once I unlock the door, he slowly makes his way to the couch while holding his side. I can’t help but want to hit him and tell him what a wimp he is. Here I am, with a broken rib and punctured lung, and he probably just has a superficial scratch. What a baby.

“So,” I say, obviously sounding annoyed, “are you going to tell me what happened?” My hands rest on my hips as I stand before him. 

He sighs. “I know I’m going to have to. You won’t give me another option.”

“Does it look like I give a shit? I just need to know, Johnny.”

He exhales audibly, gearing up to disappoint me. “I was riding through the backroads of the valley. At some point, I passed these two other bikers on the side of the road. At first they didn’t seem all that interested in what I was doing, but as I got closer I could tell they were watching me more attentively. I didn’t think anything of it until I had passed them and I heard bikes coming up behind me. When they caught up to me, I knew exactly who they were and they knew exactly who I was. They mockingly rode in formation behind me, with me in the president’s position.”

“Terry and Clay,” I say as I shake my head in disbelief.

Johnny nods as an affirmation. “I knew they’d follow me all across western San Andreas if I didn’t stop, so I did. I thought maybe I could talk my way out of it, but obviously they had a lot more resentment than I thought.”

“I can’t completely blame them. I was furious with you when I found out you faked your death. Hell, I was angry at _Trevor_. Both of you knew how much it hurt to go through that with Michael, but both of you put me through it a second time. However, what did I tell you about Terry and Clay when we all lived in Sandy Shores?”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “I know, I know.” In unison, we say, “They’re just like Brian.”

“You know what this means, don’t you, Johnny?”

“I have to go back to the club,” he sighs.

“You don’t get it, Johnny. You never left the club; you merely took a break from it. Even I know the oath you took when you entered the club and what that meant. You’re a bigger fool than I thought if you really thought you could get out of it.”

Johnny gets to his feet, wincing and holding his side. He sticks one hand out defensively. “Whoa, hold on a second. What makes you think you know more about that club than me?”

“One very simple reason: I understand brotherhood a whole lot more than you do.” I fire back.

“Oh, you think so?” He grows more and more agitated.

“You **don’t** bail on the people that are there for you! You don’t carry out a pointless ongoing feud with the psychopathic boyfriend of your best friend over drug trafficking territory! You don’t fake your death and then show up, making me think someone broke in our house to kill me or Trevor! You don’t leave so easily the moment things get tough and most importantly, you don’t go back on an oath all about brotherhood!” I scurry over to the overnight bag I brought with me.

“Listen here,” he begins angrily.

“ ** _No!_** _You_ listen here, Jonathan Klebitz!” I pull his kutte out of my bag and throw it at him. He fumbles, but catches it. “You have to start from square one in Los Santos now because of your stupid mistakes, or you _will_ be killed. You made your bed, now lie in it. I suggest you get a grip and start looking out for prospects.”

Without another word, I turn towards the stairs and head on up. Johnny has been staying in the bedroom, but I’m taking it over since I had to come all the way here. It’s the least he could do, and it’s my beach house anyway. As soon as I get upstairs, I go into the bathroom with my overnight bag. 

Quietly and still fuming from my argument with Johnny, I change into fresh comfy clothes. As I slide into my pants, I feel an uncomfortable shift in my stomach. It turns and before I know it, I’m losing my dinner into the toilet. I feel better immediately, but I feel completely drained. I rinse my mouth with tap water and lumber over to the bed. 

_Shit_ , I think to myself. _Damn you, Trevor. Damn you_. I bury my face in my hands in utter desperation at what this probably means. I’m too tired to even have a sudden cathartic burst of emotion. Suddenly, I hear something hit the window behind me.

I whip around, and of course nothing is there. It was probably just the house settling or some frond from a palm that the wind blew against the window. Out of nowhere, my head is flooded with images of my bruised and bloodied body. The sounds of _his_ breathing in my ear is deafening. I want to scream out, but I know it’s not real. 

When I manage to calm myself down, I become aware of the fact that I’m clasping my hands over my ears and my nails are digging into my scalp. I can’t do this. Slightly embarrassed, I make my way down the stairs and stand on the very last one. Johnny is laying on the couch, facing away from the stairs.

“Johnny?” I whisper into the dimmed living area.

He turns his head to the side to show he’s listening. “Yeah? Back to tell me another reason I’m a stupid bastard?”

“No,” I say bashfully. “I need to ask you something.”

He sits up and turns to me. “What is it?” 

“Can you sleep upstairs with me? The last time I was here-”

He cuts me off, “Say no more.”

“Thank you,” I say genuinely.

He slowly gets up and walks up to me at the stairs. “Don’t mention it. I mean that; don’t mention it. Trevor wouldn’t like this.”

“Trevor would understand.” I assure him and give him a forced smile. I turn around and head back up the stairs with Johnny right behind me. 

I crawl into bed on the side farthest from the door. Johnny looks at me for approval before turning out the light, and then he slides into bed beside me. I stare at the ceiling, knowing I’m not going to go to sleep very easily here in general. After a few minutes, I thought Johnny would’ve fallen asleep already, but he hadn’t.

“I want to ask you something that I know isn’t my place to ask.” He says softly.

“What?” I ask in apprehensive anticipation.

“Everything that happened to you that week you were gone, it was worse than what you’ve been leading on, isn’t it?” He asks.

A silent pause is an answer in itself to his question, but I muster a “Yeah.” The dark can hide the tears that well up in my eyes, but it’s more of a challenge to keep quiet. 

“I knew it,” he sighs. “Trevor still doesn’t know, does he?”

“Nope.”

I feel Johnny’s hand slide across the comforter and entwine with mine. “It’s ok. _You’re_ ok.” He turns to look at me in the dark beside him. “You’re stronger than any of us. I don’t know why you take on everyone else’s problems and always try to be the strong one, but I want you to know you don’t always have to be that way. We’ll take care of you, if you let us.”

* * *

Johnny gives me a passing glance as he tosses my bag into the back of the truck. I lock up the house and then we get in the truck. I haven’t spoken much to him this morning. He knows I’m upset, but I’m content to just let him believe that the only reason is all the trouble he has caused. He gives me some time to gather myself and mentally prepare for explaining the recent events to Trevor when we get home.

“You know,” he starts, “I was thinking about what you said last night.”

“Which part?” I scoff.

Out of my peripherals, I see him look at me. “All of it, but especially the part about starting over. He looks down at his kutte in his lap. “You were also right when you told me I don’t understand _true_ brotherhood. I took these patches for granted. A million guys would’ve killed to be the president of The Lost MC.”

My grip on the steering wheel tightens and I straighten my posture. “I’m glad you came around.” Quickly, I look over and give him a glance.

* * *

As if he had been waiting there all night, Trevor watched me pull the truck into the driveway. I put it in park and Trevor leans against the driver’s side door. He gets a good look at both of us, but Johnny’s bandages on his face is what gets most of his attention. Johnny notices Trevor looking at him.

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” Johnny says plainly and heads inside without another word.

Trevor’s eyebrows raise briefly, pleased with Johnny’s answer. He backs off the door and opens it, helping me out. I slide out of the seat, and as Trevor slams the car door shut behind me he takes my bag from my hand.

“What happened?” He finally asks.

“The two MC members we missed happened to find him. Obviously, they weren’t too pleased their president tried to leave them high-and-dry. He’s ok though.”

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” My brow creases in confusion at his question.

“Are _you_ ok? You look a little out of sorts.” He says with concern.

I stop walking and so does he. Trevor looks at me and sees the look of desperation. “I’m a long way from ok right now, but I don’t know how to even begin explaining it to you.”

“Ok,” he says sympathetically. Trevor wraps his arm around me, pulling me against him and kissing the top of my head.


End file.
